Retribution
by JillianCasey
Summary: When she got the call, she didn't expect it to lead to this. Season 5 AU.
1. 3:16

_If you are looking for joyful and fluffy Christmas fic, this isn't it. Sorry. If you are looking for humorous Castle and Beckett save the day and then make out fic, this isn't it either. Again, sorry. If you are looking for intense/Kate asks some serious questions about herself/perp-is-creepy case-fic, I'm your girl. Consider yourself warned._

_Special thanks to Carto. She's a fic bully, but she's my fic bully. _

* * *

The primitive sense of the just—remarkably constant from several ancient cultures to modern institutions ... starts from the notion that a human life ... is a vulnerable thing, a thing that can be invaded, wounded, violated by another's act in many ways. For this penetration, the only remedy that seems appropriate is a counter invasion, equally deliberate, equally grave. And to right the balance truly, the retribution must be exactly, strictly proportional to the original encroachment. It differs from the original act only in the sequence of time and in the fact that it is response rather than original act.

—Martha Nussbaum

* * *

The call comes at 3:16.

Kate doesn't hear it right away. She's dead asleep, her limbs heavy with blood that's liquid lead, exhausted from the kinds of exercise one expects after a date night before a day off. The ring is a sharp interruption, slicing through her dream of climbing Mount Everest with Castle. She squints at him while hanging from a plateau like a monkey, a dangerous move that her dream-self doesn't seem too concerned with. Castle grins at her, icicles on his eyelashes, his lips red from the wind and moving in slow motion as they form the words _I love you_.

She's opening her mouth to say it back when he moves away from her. It takes a moment to register that he's not moving, he's falling, his grin fading with his body, which is plummeting off the mountain and down into the white abyss and she screams, tries to let go of the plateau and follow him, but her fingers are glued to the stone—

"Castle!"

She bolts upright, chest heaving. Pain scratches at her throat from a yell that must not have been only in her dream, because her boyfriend jolts awake next to her.

"Kate?" he slurs, reaching for her blindly, his palm connecting hard with her upper arm. She reaches for him, hands clammy, fingers closing around his t-shirt. She hangs on like he's about to fall, clings to him so he won't, and then her phone rings again.

She loosens her grip. She can hear him panting beside her, still disoriented. Reflex kicks in. She lets him go, turns to the side table next to his bed and fumbles for her phone. She has it to her ear in a second, brisk and business-like.

"Beckett."

She hears Castle exhale, feels the mattress sag as he relaxes. "Detective Beckett," a voice says on the other end of the line.

Kate frowns, looks at the clock. She pinches the bridge of her nose. "What is it?"

Castle wraps himself around her, his head at her shoulder, inhaling her hair. She closes her eyes. She's not on call, for God's sake. Can't they have one night?

"There's been a murder. You're needed at the Waldorf."

"I'm not on call."

"You are now."

"And you are?"

"Commissioner Levitt."

Silence. It's three in the morning and she wants to be asleep, wants to be curled up with Castle until late tomorrow morning when he wakes her with pancakes or sex or both. But this is the Commissioner, and it's three in the morning. Three in the morning is terrorist time. Serial killer time.

No-more-sleep, end-of-date-night time.

"I'm sorry, sir. Has something happened?"

"A murder. High profile. I want you here, Beckett."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there as soon as possible."

"Make it sooner."

The harsh click punctuates the call, and Kate sighs. She lowers the phone to her lap, turns the screen down toward the sheet so its brightness doesn't hurt her still sleepy eyes.

"Doesn't he know its date night?" Castle murmurs into her shoulder, his lips painting her skin.

"Guess he missed the memo," she answers. She pushes a hand through her hair, tries to mentally prepare. Cold night out. Get up, find good clothes. Not too shabby—Commissioner will be there. High profile? Maybe press. Coffee. She needs—

"I'll make the coffee," Castle says.

She turns to thank him, is stopped by his lips on hers, gentle, exactly the kind of wake-up call she'd have preferred.

"I'll make it strong," he promises, then climbs out of bed.

"Better make it nuclear," she mutters. His shadowy form disappears from the room, and she allows herself the brief luxury of collapsing back onto the bed, just for a moment.

Sometimes she hates her job.

X-X-X-X-X

It's so cold out Kate can practically see her breath crystallizing in front of her as she and Castle climb the steps to the Waldorf. She shoves her gloved hands into her pockets and shivers, nearly jogging up the steps. Castle watches her longingly, his eyes dancing over her face.

"Yeah, me too," she tells him, just as they reach the front door. His face splits into a wide grin, and she can't help but smile a little, too.

The second they get through the door, it's gone. The Commissioner is pacing. He sees her, beelines forward so intently Kate wants to take a step back. He's too intense for it being four in the morning.

"Beckett."

"Commissioner," she greets, nodding her head. "You remember Mr. Castle."

"Rick," Levitt greets gruffly. "We're on the eighteenth floor."

"The Starlight Roof?" Rick asks.

Levitt looks surprised. Kate lifts an eyebrow.

"Came to an event here," Rick explains. "Nice digs."

"Should be, since it's an Easton wedding," Levitt answers, ushering them toward an elevator.

"Easton?" Rick asks. "Like the billionaire Eastons?"

"That's them. Rented the whole damn floor. Wedding reception on one side, rooms on the other."

"And the dead body is where?" Kate asks, following Levitt onto an elevator.

"One of the rooms," the Commissioner answers. "Drunk couple stumbled into the wrong room and found her."

He meets Kate's gaze. He looks suddenly haunted, white and far too old, and Kate suppresses a shiver, tells herself its left over from the frigid cab ride here.

"It's not pretty, Beckett."

Castle's silence is palpable. The elevator starts to rise. Beckett holds eye contact with the Commissioner. "This isn't the 12th's jurisdiction."

The implication is clear. He nods, then shrugs. "We need the best." He glances at the numbers above the elevator, then back to her. "And someone who can handle the press in the midst of a case like this."

"A case like what?"

The elevator arrives on the eighteenth floor, makes a sharp _ping_ sound. The doors slide open. Kate doesn't step off. "I can show you better than I can tell you," Levitt says.

"By all means," Kate answers, gesturing toward the still open elevator doors. Levitt steps off, and Kate follows. Castle falls in stride next to her.

"The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up," he whispers to her.

She smiles. "Scared, Castle?"

He pouts. "A little," he admits.

She pats his arm, the rare public contact making her heart race. "Don't worry. I've got a gun."

He opens his mouth, then quickly shuts it when he sees the look she's giving him. He smirks, she smiles, and then Levitt is turning to face them. He points to a doorway to the right. "Body's in there. Look it over before I tell you who it is."

Kate frowns. "Why would her identity change my assessment of the scene?"

"I don't want theories on why yet. You know who she is, that's all you're going to do. I want theories on _what_. Tell me what, I'll tell you who, and then you can tell me why."

He walks away without another word. Castle snorts. "That was like the world's worst riddle."

Kate shakes her head and starts toward the crime scene. "Shush, you."

From the doorway, the scene seems simple enough. The bed is still made. The dead woman is draped atop the comforter. Her nails are freshly manicured. Her black stilettos are Manolo Blahniks. Her long diamond earrings probably cost more than Kate makes in a week. Whoever this was, she had money. Her dress is a beautifully deep shade of purple; the fabric shimmers every time the CSU cameras flash.

It's the light from the camera flash that starts the steady seep of heat out of Kate's body.

The victim is covered in bruises. Deep purple welts to match her dress, red marks crisscrossed into her skin, bloody wounds and swollen joints that tell a story Kate doesn't want to imagine.

The medical examiner hovers over the body, peering into the woman's eyes. Kate recognizes him, though she hasn't worked with him in a long time. She moves toward him and the victim.

"Dr. Evans," she calls.

He looks up, smiles. "Beckett. Long time no see."

Kate nods, looks back down at the victim. The bruises are even more horrific up close. There are spots of blood on the comforter that she didn't see when she first came in the room. She bends forward, sees that they've congealed. Vic's been dead a while.

"See the petechiae?" Evans says, pointing a gloved finger at a cluster of small, vivid red dots on the victim's face. He leans forward, gently opens one of the woman's eyes. There are red spots on the whites of her eyes as well.

"COD was asphyxiation then," Kate says.

"Well, I won't know for sure until I get her on my table," Evans says, straightening. "But I'd say it's a fairly accurate estimate."

Kate crosses her arms over her chest. "She's roughed up."

"Understatement," Castle says softly from across the bed. Kate looks up at him.

"And you are?" Evans asks.

"My partner, Richard Castle," Kate answers.

"You're right, Detective Castle," Evans says. Castle's eyes go wide as he glances at Kate, but she doesn't correct the M.E. "Somebody did a number on her. Whoever it was, they had a lot of anger."

"What're we looking at?" Kate asks.

"Like I said, it's all preliminary. Some broken fingers judging by the swelling of the joints here," he points to her left hand. "Bruises all over her suggest a beating. With his fists, probably. Ligature mark around her neck is probably how she died if we're talking asphyxiation."

Kate leans over, studies the angry red line that wraps around the woman's neck. "Any ideas on the weapon?"

"Nothing patterned. Not a chain or a rope. See how smooth it is?"

"A tie," Kate guesses. "Silk, maybe?"

"I'll look for some fibers," Evan says.

That's when Levitt enters. "What do you see?" he asks.

"A woman worth a lot of money," Kate answers, looking at him pointedly. "Designer shoes, expensive jewelry, beautiful dress."

"So?"

"So all of it is still on her. It wasn't about money. At least not robbing her, anyway."

"So what was it about?"

"Rage. Broken fingers, blood, bruises. Petechiae suggests asphyxiation, and the ligature mark around her neck says strangulation. That's intimate. You do it right, you can watch the life drain out of someone. There's a lot of hatred here, Commissioner."

Castle is beaming at her proudly from across the bed, but she ignores him to meet Levitt's gaze head on. "This is Jamie Easton," he says. "Little sister of the bride."

"Your perp's got a lot of balls, then."

Levitt frowns. "You don't think it's a crime of passion?"

"Passion, certainly. Not opportunity. He didn't pick her at random, and he didn't lose his cool. He planned this. This is capital murder."

"Can you prove that?"

"Not yet. But I will."


	2. Pancuronium

_Another friendly reminder: if you are squeamish, don't read this. If you are looking for a fluffy fic, trust me-this isn't it. Nothing in here is more than what you'd see on primetime TV, but it is rated T for a reason. If you're still in for the ride after my warnings, here we go :) _

* * *

She sends Castle for coffee after she finishes working the scene, right around five AM. She needs a moment to think. She loves him next to her to bounce ideas off of and build theory, but he's doing that thing he does sometimes when he's a proud boyfriend instead of her partner. He's impressed that Levitt is impressed. Part of her is triumphant that even after five years, she can still impress him. Most of her is horrified by her tortured victim.

She needs to solve this case. Now.

She ticks off the details. Jamie Easton, 21. Intern at a high profile publicity firm a few blocks north of the Waldorf, and a senior at Columbia. Her father owns a prolific chain of department stores, and she's a trust fund baby.

_Was_ a trust fund baby.

Kate doesn't want to admit it, but Levitt was right. If she'd known who Jamie was before she examined the scene, she might've pushed it off as a money thing. It still could be about money. It's definitely somebody with a vendetta. The location of the crime, the horrible bruises mottling her skin, the asphyxiation—the cruelty is stunning.

"Yo. Beckett."

Kate turns, sees a tired looking Esposito and Ryan heading toward her. "Hey," she greets. "How's it going with the wedding guests?"

Esposito shakes his head. "Not good. Nobody heard a thing."

"There was a couple in the room next door," Ryan says. "They swear they didn't hear anything. But they were, uh…otherwise engaged."

Kate shakes her head. "I don't care how _engaged_ they were. The screams that come with torture like that would've interrupted."

"Unless she didn't scream," Esposito says.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Gagged. Drugged. Who knows," he says, shrugging noncommittally. "But you can't hear something that didn't happen."

Kate sighs. "What about the other five senses? Anybody see anything?"

Ryan glances at his notepad. "A couple guys say they noticed her, but not with anyone suspicious."

"Same here," Esposito echoes.

"This was a private party," Kate says. "Hotel security told me that no one got off the elevator without an invitation in hand."

"What about the stairs?"

"Hotel security posted there too."

Esposito shakes his head. "Big deal wedding, huh?"

"Eastons," Ryan says, looking around the room. "Money can't buy love, but it can buy everything else."

"Can't buy love?" Esposito says, looking at his partner.

Ryan looks confused. "Well, yeah. Not _real_ love."

Esposito gives Kate a look. "I thought the honeymoon phase was over."

Kate smiles but ignores him. "If it wasn't the guests, then that leaves the staff. Get a list of everyone that worked with the caterers, the DJ, everybody. I want anything we can get. We'll run it, see if we've got anyone with a record."

They nod in unison, already on the way. She watches them go, biting her lip. She's got a feeling that this case is going to be long and awful. She can already smell a dead end coming.

"Detective?"

Kate turns. A very tall, very attractive man is looking down at her. He's in a tux, his bow tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. He's young, but the darkness in his eyes clues her in that he's one of the victims of this murder.

"I'm Nate Hale," he says, holding out his hand. "They told me you're the detective in charge?"

Kate shakes his hand. "Yes. Detective Beckett. What can I do for you, Mr. Hale?"

"I'm Jamie's boyfriend," he says. The haunted look in his eyes suddenly makes sense, and Kate feels the twinge of familiarity. How many times has she looked at a victim and wondered if they can see that she, too, has a piece of her missing?

"I'm sorry for your loss," she says.

He nods, swallows. "Yeah. Thanks. Uh. Those other two detectives, they asked if I saw anyone suspicious, and I said no, because I hadn't. But I just realized…" he shakes his head. "I don't know if it'll help."

"Anything you can remember helps," Kate assures him.

"Okay. Jaim and I…we were on a break. Rough patch, you know. I was going to try to talk things out with her tonight, but when I went to find her she was draped over some guy."

"You'd never seen him before?"

"No. At first I thought he was one of the caterers. He had on one of those black vests, you know. But he didn't have a name tag. Anyway, they went that way." Nate points over her shoulder and Kate turns, sees him pointing in the direction of the murder scene. "I didn't see her after that."

"Do you think you could describe him to a sketch artist?"

He shrugs. "I can try. Whatever helps."

X-X-X-X-X

Kate takes her time putting everything up on the murder board. Castle watches her from his position perched on the edge of the desk. She's had more cups of coffee than she can count, and it's only ten in the morning. She's exhausted. If Castle hadn't brought breakfast when he came back to the Waldorf, she'd be starving, too.

This murder has been hers for seven hours, and it's already leeched into her bones. Jamie Easton is the same age that Kate was when her mother died. It's odd, that she's identifying with the dead girl instead of the live victims—it's usually the other way around. But this time, she sees herself in Jamie. Sees the party girl she was at her age, remembers how the death of her mother only intensified her recklessness: on her bike, in the clubs, at her job. She's spent the past ten years living with the effects of her mother's death, but right now all she can think about is how it would've affected her mother if she'd been the one to die instead.

The caffeine has made her jittery. She curves one of her letters oddly, swears softly under her breath, and erases it. She sighs. She feels his presence behind her suddenly, the change in atmosphere comforting.

"Long morning," he says, his voice sliding over her skin like satin. She closes her eyes and drinks it in; it's the kind of stimulant she's been fruitlessly searching for at the bottom of a coffee cup.

"Yes," she finally says.

"Tonight," he continues. "When it's quitting time. You and me. Take-out. A movie. We can doze. I'll even let you drool on me."

She smiles at the murder board. "We're an old couple already."

"Last night negates whatever happens tonight."

Heat thrills through her veins, the memory of his lips on her skin giving the air between them a nearly audible crack. She hums low under her breath. "I'd say it's worth about a week of negations."

"Maybe a month," he murmurs.

It's dangerous, playing these games with him at work. Not because she's afraid they'll get caught, but because it leaves her with desire simmering in her core, a want that will hit its boiling point by the time they get home. They need to sleep tonight, but the way things are looking, she'll be climbing him like a tree before they even make it off the elevator.

Her cell rings, breaks the moment just in time. She answers it as she turns to face him.

"Beckett," she says, enunciating the letters and holding his eyes. She chews her lip, and he gives her one of those looks that makes the boys pretend to gag.

"Detective," Dr. Evans' voice says on the other end of the line. "I've got some…news. Can you meet me in the morgue?"

X-X-X-X-X

Something about Evans's voice on the phone has put her right back on edge. She drums her fingers on her thigh as they head for the morgue. She feels Castle watching her, wonders if she should tell him that she feels unsettled because she's identifying with the murdered socialite a little more than she should. She decides not to mention it until they're home. If she does it now, he'll worry. She doesn't like to make him worry.

When they push through the doors of the morgue, Evans is standing next to Jamie Easton's body looking absolutely bulldozed. His face is a bloodless white, the kind of expression that Kate only sees on professionals like him when something really, really bad has happened. She glances at Castle, wonders how she can protect him from this. He's a grown man but he's also hers, and she doesn't like when part of her world dims part of his. It isn't fair.

"Dr. Evans," she greets, forcing her attention back to the M.E.

Evans looks up, tries and fails to give her a genuine smile. "Detective. You're here."

"We have a COD?" she prompts.

He nods. "Yeah. COD is asphyxiation, officially, but she was in a hell of a lot of pain before she died. Six broken bones, including a rib. Bruises everywhere. Cuts. She was tortured."

Kate is not surprised. They'd learned as much at the scene. Still, the word _torture_ echoes through the cold room. "Any defensive wounds?"

"Not one."

Kate sighs, steps toward the body. "It doesn't make any sense. Her whole family and hundreds of guests were just outside the door. Not one person heard a scream _and_ she didn't try to fight him off?"

"I think I know why. Her tox screen came back positive for alcohol. Point oh-eight."

"So she was drunk."

"And drugged. Her blood was laced with a drug called pancuronium. It only takes ninety seconds to kick in, but its effects last for a few hours."

She doesn't want to ask, because the way Evans is looking at her tells her she won't like the answer. But she has a job to do. "What kind of effects?"

He swallows. "It's a neuromuscular blocker. In layman's terms, it causes immediate paralysis without unconsciousness."

Nausea washes over her. "You mean she was awake when she was tortured."

"Not just awake. Awake and paralyzed. She couldn't fight off the perp. She couldn't even scream for help."

"So he's a sadist."

"Yeah. A sexual one."

The silence is deafening. Kate stares at Evans. She can hear her blood pounding in her ears. Beside her, Castle lets out a low and strangled, "Oh my God."

"Tell me he didn't," Kate murmurs.

Evans shakes his head. "I wish I could. The severe trauma says it all. Your victim wasn't just tortured, Beckett. She was raped."


	3. Sinking Ship

Kate's ears are ringing. She's just updated Gates, who looks appropriately saddened, but she can't get the look on Castle's face out of her head. This case needs to be over. She can handle a lot. She's handled cases like this before, but always with trained professionals who knew what to expect and how to compartmentalize. She's never done this with Castle at her side. She's never had to watch the first eclipse of evil spread through his eyes like this, because before it was just murder. Stealing a life is one thing. But this kind of theft…

It makes her ask questions that don't have answers.

"Detective," Gates says.

"Sir?"

"The Commissioner called me before he called you. He was very insistent. The Eastons are the definition of high profile. Mr. Easton is one of the Mayor's biggest contributors."

Disgust rises from the pit of Kate's stomach. "Sir," she says carefully. "I understand the importance to the Mayor. But with all due respect, there is more at stake here."

Gates nods. "I agree. You've misinterpreted my meaning. This isn't about why we need to solve this case. This is about barriers. The press is going to eat, sleep, and breathe this."

Kate understands suddenly. She nods. "Yes. I…yes, sir."

"You can handle this. Right?"

"I can handle this."

"Good. Keep me abreast of the situation."

"Yes sir."

Gates turns away, and Kate knows she's dismissed. She leaves the office feeling numb. Esposito and Ryan are waiting for her.

"You okay?" Esposito asks.

She nods. "Yeah. What've you got?"

"A list of convicted felons," Ryan answers. He holds out a few folders. "Three men, all convicted felons, were part of the staff at the wedding. The DJ, Jerry James, has a pair of assault charges on his record. Did a dime in Sing Sing. The other two were on the catering staff. Drug charges and larceny, respectively."

Kate looks over the files without really seeing them. "Hale done with the sketch artist yet?"

"Yes," Esposito says, handing over a sketch.

The sketched man has a large, angular jaw and hair that's swept to the side. _He's not a bad looking guy_, she thinks idly. Add some sociopath charm, and he probably had no problem talking Jamie Easton into accepting a drink that she didn't know was laced with pancuronium.

Kate compares the sketch to the pictures in the files. "None of these match the sketch," she says, looking up at the boys. "You think we have two perps?"

"We don't know," Ryan says, glancing at Esposito. "We were hoping you'd have an idea."

She nods. "Bring the three felons in. We'll split up, get their stories so we can rule them out. Then we'll look into the sketch." She frowns. "Where's Castle?"

"He said the coffee machine was acting up. Went down the road to get some," Esposito answers over his shoulder.

Kate stares after him for a while, thinking it over. Odd. Usually Castle would've gone to a different floor, or waited to see if she wanted to go with him. She makes her way into the break room, looks at the coffee maker. She presses a few buttons, fiddles, and coffee starts brewing. She frowns, does the same with the espresso machine. It works too. She closes her eyes, shakes her head when she realizes.

As she's pulling on her coat, Esposito calls out to her across the bullpen. "Where you going?"

"I'll be back," she says. "Just bring me my felons."

X-X-X-X-X

The bell above the coffeehouse door jangles when Kate pushes it open. The lunch rush is in full swing. Men in suits with their phones pressed to their ears are in line, shifting from foot to foot behind women in heels who are busy examining their nails and tapping out text messages.

Kate scans the room, finally spots him at a table by the window. It's the back of his head, but she'd know it anywhere. She makes her way toward him.

"Hey," she says when she stops next to the table.

He looks up, surprised. He tries to stand up, already rushing to explain. "Sorry, I was just about to come—"

She puts a hand on his shoulder, gently pushes him back into his chair. He stops talking. She stares at him for a second, then lifts her hand and brushes the backs of her fingers over his cheek, his stubble rough beneath her skin.

His shoulders relax. He exhales slowly, but his eyes never leave hers. She unbuttons her coat and then takes the seat opposite him. She looks out the window but feels him watching her. He seems to be expecting her to spout something encouraging and wise, but she doesn't have anything to say. She's just as shaken up as he is. She just hides it better.

"This isn't how I planned today would turn out," he says after a moment.

She looks at him, a smile threatening her lips. "Oh? What'd you have planned?"

He shrugs. "Pancakes. Spending all morning in bed. I thought we could go to the zoo."

Kate arches an eyebrow. "The zoo? In January?"

"Yeah. The Polar Circle. You can feed the penguins, and watch the polar bears swim, and they've got this newly renovated exhibit that shows the penguins in their natural—you're laughing at me."

"No," she says, but she's grinning. "It's just sweet. That's all."

He looks out the window. "They have King Eider penguins. Did you know that a female King Eider nests on her own? She does it all by herself. She doesn't eat for the entire incubation period, which is nearly a month. And if someone threatens the nest, she doesn't run. She just lays flat over it. She'd rather die than leave her eggs to fend for themselves."

He says it so vehemently, and he's so determinedly not looking at her, that she knows this isn't about King Eiders. It never was. The atmosphere changes quickly, as though she's shifted gears incorrectly while driving stick.

"Rick?" she asks.

He finally looks at her. "They remind me of you. I was reading about them yesterday when you were doing paperwork but it didn't hit me until this morning, when I saw your face at the morgue, and now all I keep seeing is this mental picture of you lying on top of Manhattan."

"You worry too much," she starts to say, but he's shaking his head and leaning over the table toward her. She's stunned, because all morning she's been worried about him. This case is so horrific and this isn't even his job. He shouldn't have to deal with it. She's been so worried about him, and all this time he's been worrying about _her_?

"Kate," he says sternly. "You can tell me all you want that you're fine, but this is one of those days that I'm not going to believe you. That crime scene and what happened at the morgue—that's hell on earth. That's _horror_. And I know this is your job, and I know you love it, and you're good at it—you're _so good_ at it—but I really _really_ hate what it does to you sometimes."

She doesn't know what to say to that. She doesn't say anything.

He exhales heavily, leans back against his chair. Silence reigns for a little while as he looks out the window and she studies the table. He looks at her again. "You're worried about me."

"Of course I am," she says. "We've never had a case like this."

"And you have?"

"Yes. Not many. But enough. This one is worse than those, but I'm okay. This is my job, Castle."

"That's what I mean. It must get to you. I've _seen_ it get to you. How evil people can be. You've looked evil in the eye dozens of times before and you'll do it dozens more and how does it not _break_ you? How do I stop it from breaking you?"

He's breathless by the time he finishes, and Kate feels breathless, too. She's asked herself that question more times than she can count, but it doesn't change the underlying truth. She has to do this work. She can't imagine doing anything else. The conviction, the need to hunt killers and fight for justice and put herself on the line, not just her body but the deepest parts of her, too—that's the only way she can live in this world.

She has no idea how to communicate that to Castle, especially since this isn't how she saw today ending up either. She didn't realize they were going to have _this_ talk. She knew it was inevitable. They couldn't escape it forever, not after their conversation last May. She just didn't expect it to be _today_.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm just trying to understand. I don't want you to think I'm telling you that you shouldn't be doing this."

She chews her lip, tries to finds the words. "I don't know how to explain it to you. The only answer I have is that you have to compartmentalize. Detach. Or you're right. The job will eat you alive."

"And you can do that? You can detach enough that what you just did is easy?"

"It's never easy. But it's manageable. It has to be. Otherwise I wouldn't get to catch the bastards and throw them behind bars where they belong."

"Is that enough for you? To catch them?"

The words are on the tip of her tongue, the tested and true explanation that saving just one life makes it all worth it, but for some reason she can't get them out. She swallows them, lets what's been whispering to her all day come tumbling out of her mouth instead.

"No," she says. "I don't know, Castle. Maybe I'm emptying buckets of water from a ship that's going down fast. Maybe in the end, it's just going to sink. But isn't it better to do something than to sit and watch the ship go down? Doing nothing, living a normal life—whatever _normal_ means—and pretending like I don't know what's out there…_that_ would break me. This? This is hard as hell. But it's the only way I know how to survive in this world."

She leans over the table, holds out her hand and waits until he slides his fingers in between hers and squeezes. "Besides," she whispers, watching her thumb as she slides it along the back of his hand, "I'm not a King Eider penguin. I'm not doing this alone."

When she looks up at him, he's smiling. "You're never alone, Kate."

X-X-X-X-X

They spend the rest of the afternoon clearing the felons. Ryan and Esposito each take a caterer, and Kate takes the DJ. He leers at her, Castle glares at him, and she ignores them both and does her damn job. The DJ's alibi checks out, just like the caterers' do. By 7:15, they're back to where they started when they first walked into the Waldorf, though definitely more exhausted and fractured.

Kate can think of nothing but the dead girl. The evil it requires to paralyze someone into submission in order to torture them to death. The cruelty of strangulation. Usually she can find a flicker of hope to latch onto, but not tonight. The power latent in the gold badge that sits heavy on her hip doesn't help either. It's power that always becomes a burden in moments like this, when she's helpless.

The boys are sitting in their chairs, tiredly watching her as she studies the murder board, when Gates orders them all to go home. Kate turns around, an argument spilling from her lips out of habit. She sees the looks on Ryan and Esposito's faces, notices the darkening shadows in Castle's eyes, feels the fatigue chilling her bones.

"Yes, sir," she murmurs instead.

Gates nods curtly and disappears back into her office. Ryan and Esposito don't even high five; they just stand up wordlessly. Castle helps Kate into her coat. Their eyes lock as she watches him put his on. She reaches out, brushes an imaginary piece of lint off of his lapel.

"Let's go home," she says.

They don't even pretend that they're going separate places. He hails a cab, ushers her inside, then folds himself in after her. The second the door is closed behind him she nestles into his side, rests her head against his shoulder after he wraps his arm around her. They stay like that until they reach his loft. They ride the elevator with their hands intertwined.

In the darkness of his bedroom, they undress each other. They climb into bed, still not more than a hairsbreadth apart, and fall asleep in each other's arms.

The call comes at 4:37.


	4. Meet The Press

"What've we got?" Kate asks as she kneels next to the body that's crumpled behind a dumpster in an alley behind a nightclub.

Dr. Evans looks up from his clipboard. "Caucasian female, age between 18 to 24. Significant bruising and open wounds, torn dress, ligature mark around the neck."

Kate eyes the smooth red line around the dead girl's neck, followed by the bruises and cuts. "Petechiae?"

Evans kneels, lifts one of the girl's eyelids. "Yup."

Kate lowers her gaze, takes in the thousand dollar Versace dress, the Jimmy Choo's, and the this-season Louis Vuitton purse that lies only a foot away. "Identical crimes," she says, looking over the body to meet Evans' eyes.

He sighs. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Kate's afraid of it too, but she doesn't say that. Instead she gets to her feet, makes her way over to the Louis Vuitton. She digs around, finds a cell phone, and then a wallet.

"Esposito," she calls, without looking up. She feels him next to her as she rifles through the wallet. "Name is Natalie Barton, twenty-one years old." She hands him the cell phone. "Get it to tech, I want to know who she's been talking to."

"Did you say Natalie Barton?" Castle asks, stepping forward.

Kate looks up. He's been hanging back since they arrived. Natalie Barton has beautiful red hair, and she's not much older than Alexis. Kate wants to send him home, but she knows he won't go.

"Yes," she says. "Why? Ring a bell?"

"Assuming this is the same killer as yesterday, which I think we're all assuming?" Castle looks between her, Esposito, and Evans. The M.E. doesn't answer. Esposito shrugs. Kate nods at him, so he continues. "Charles Barton is a very, very wealthy stock trader. He specializes in coffee. Family is worth millions."

"Identical COD _and_ similar vics?" Esposito says. "You're saying we got a serial."

"I'm saying it's a definite possibility," Castle answers. "Look at the stamp on her hand. She was in this nightclub before she was killed. I bet if we ask around, we'll hear that she snuggled up to some guy just before she disappeared. And I bet he matches the sketch we've got."

Kate paces around the victim, still holding the purse. "But why? I know we've got two socialites. But is it really about money?"

"What else could it be about?"

"Power." Esposito looks confused, but she doesn't have time to explain.

"Beckett!" Ryan calls.

Kate turns, suddenly wary from the tone of his voice. He's jogging toward her, checking over his shoulder. Kate looks past him, sees the press and some onlookers held back by crime scene tape that's manned by two uniforms. When he reaches her, he's fumbling with his phone.

"We got a problem."

He thrusts his phone into her hand, and she looks down at the screen just as a video on an Internet browser begins. She watches as a news anchor on the local morning news announces that someone calling himself _Nemesis_ has taken responsibility for the brutal murders of Jamie Easton and Natalie Barton, both daughters of Manhattan's rich and powerful elite. The anchor reads off a short note that explains how the killer works for "justice." He ends his letter by promising more dead bodies. Kate swears under her breath.

"Definitely a serial," Esposito says.

"Yeah, except, that's not the problem," Ryan says.

Kate frowns. "Then what is?"

He points back where he came from. "That."

Kate follows the direction of his finger. The crowds behind the tape are getting bigger, and they've got news cameras and microphones.

Ryan sighs. "We're the morning news."

X-X-X-X-X

It might've been fine if it wasn't for Castle.

The crowds of press get bigger and bigger as Kate works the scene. She tries to ignore them, wants to give Natalie Barton all the attention she deserves, but it's difficult. A serial killer who tortures his victims is bad enough. But a serial killer that names himself something as arrogant as _Nemesis_ and then invites the press to join the dance—that's too many feet to step on and too many reporters who think they can do her job better than she can. This isn't going to end well.

The press is like a pack of rodents who multiply at exponential numbers. Kate calls for back up twenty minutes after she sees the video on Ryan's phone. By the time it arrives, the crowd of reporters has started to draw civilian gawkers too. Esposito and Ryan are staring at the crowd the way they stare at people who say they don't like video games. Kate grabs Castle and decides to make a break for her Crown Vic before things get even worse.

At first, she bullies her way through them just fine, mostly with a glare but sometimes an occasional suggestive push. Most of them move, not nearly brave enough to get in her way despite her never-ending refrain of _no comment_. And then she hears it.

"Oh my God, that's Richard Castle!"

She doesn't even have time to curse before the next revelation gets shouted out.

"That's Nikki Heat!"

"No, I'm no—" Castle tries, but suddenly there's a mob converging on them, splitting them up, shoving from all angles.

Cameras are thrust into her face, the _whirr_ of dozens of clicks sounding like a great horde of insects that she can't see because the flashes are blinding her, making her see spots when she closes her eyes against the assault. Half of the questions are about Nemesis and the two dead girls, the other half about Nikki Heat and whether reality mirrors fiction. Irritation whips through her blood, hot and sharp. She reaches out and savagely shoves the nearest cameras out of her face.

With her vision clear she sees that they've surrounded Castle just as badly. He's much more accustomed to being mobbed by the press, but when he meets her eyes, he looks a little terrified. Even that she could handle, but then he yelps loud enough that she can hear it over the roar of questions. He leans down and then suddenly disappears from view with another loud yelp. She snaps.

She barrels her way through the crowd, bolstered by a glimpse of Esposito, Ryan, and some uniforms dashing toward the crowd from the crime scene. She doesn't hesitate to Heisman them out of her way, glaring at them when they round on her incredulously. Finally, _finally_, she gets through the crowd to find Castle cowering on the pavement in the fetal position.

If she wasn't so furious, she'd laugh. She bends over him, wraps her fingers around his forearm, and he flinches.

"Castle," she huffs at him.

He cracks open one eye, sees her, and then yelps. Again. "Kate, thank God," he says dramatically, scrambling to his feet. "One of the _vultures_," he spits this word at the nearest reporter, who responds by snapping a picture in his face, "stepped on my toe, and then I bent to check on it and they _pushed_ me, I swear, this is barbaric—"

"Let's go," she cuts him off, still holding onto his forearm. Esposito, Ryan, and the uniforms have made it through to them and are hollering about arresting the next person who puts a toe out of line. Kate starts for her Crown Vic, leading a still-pouting Castle, when a brave reporter darts forward and snaps a picture that leaves her momentarily blinded.

"Cute the way you rushed back in there to save him," the reporter sneers at her. He steps toward Castle and raises his camera for another picture. "She that sacrificial in bed, too, Castle?"

Kate reacts without thinking. She grabs the camera out of his hand and sends it smashing down onto the pavement with a violent whip of her arm. The reporter stares at her, wide eyed, and then splutters, "You broke my camera, you bitch!"

Kate steps closer to him, right up in his space. "Want me to break your face, too?"

"Okaaaay," Castle says, dancing in between them, "Let's just go back to the precinct, shall we, Beckett?"

She doesn't move. The reporter glares at her. "You're going to pay for a new one."

"Like hell I am."

"You broke it."

"That's not what I saw," Esposito says, stepping up on one side of the reporter.

The reporter jumps back, only to run into Ryan. "Not what I saw either," Ryan says. "I saw you drop it while assaulting a detective. Javi?"

"Oh, definitely," Esposito says. "At least that's how it'll go in my arrest report for obstruction of justice."

"Precinct?" Castle squeaks.

"Yeah, precinct," Kate says. She lifts an eyebrow at the reporter. "Wanna come with me? My handcuffs are real comfy."

The reporter glowers but backs down. "No."

"Bye then," Esposito says to him. "Have a nice day."

It isn't until the reporter walks away and the rest of the mob starts to turn back to the crime scene that Kate turns on her heel and heads for her Crown Vic.

When the doors of the car are shut and she's starting the ignition, Castle turns in his seat to look at her. "That was really hot."

The fury melts right out of her with a smile.

X-X-X-X-X

Kate has barely stepped off the elevator at the precinct when Gates calls her into her office. Castle offers to make coffee, and Kate nods and smiles at him before making her way to the captain's office.

"Give me the scoop," Gates says, looking over the rim of her glasses as she makes her way around her desk.

"We're looking at a serial," Kate starts. "Same COD, same type of victim—"

"Which is?"

"Pretty young women who come from affluent families. Yesterday was the youngest daughter of Henry Easton, and this morning the oldest daughter of Charles Barton."

"The coffee trader?"

"Yes."

"And she was tortured the same way as the other victim?"

"Looks like it. Evans will have to get her on the table before we know for sure if all the details are the same, but I'm going to operate under the assumption that it's the same guy. The crimes are too similar."

Gates nods, taking it in. Kate waits. When the captain speaks again, she looks at Kate pointedly from behind her glasses. "I saw the news this morning."

Kate flushes. She hadn't even thought about being caught on camera. "Sir, I—"

"They didn't show an altercation in any footage I saw," Gates interrupts. "But they hinted at a famous detective having words with an unknown journalist. Any idea who the famous detective is?"

"No idea," Kate deadpans.

Gates purses her lips in annoyance. "If I remember correctly, you assured me you could handle the press."

"I can," Kate says. "And I did. We've got to keep this under control, especially since the killer got in contact with them."

"Hm," Gates hums noncommittally. She looks over a file on her desk. "What is it he called himself? Nemesis?"

"Yes, sir."

"As in an enemy?"

"I don't know."

"Perhaps that should be one of the first leads you follow. I'm sure it means something. Keep me posted."

Kate can tell she's been dismissed, but she isn't done yet. "Sir, I need more manpower."

Gates looks up. "Manpower?"

"My team does a hell of a job, but if this is a serial, and the press is already this involved, I'm going to need more than just Ryan and Esposito."

"Well who would you like?"

Kate's taken aback. She'd expected to fight for more hands on deck, at least until a third body dropped. "Allen from Vice," she says immediately. She's known him since she was a Vice detective herself, and he's one of the best. "And Lennox from Robbery," she adds. "A couple uniforms."

Gates nods. "They'll be here in an hour."

X-X-X-X-X

Gates keeps her word. In less than an hour, Detectives Harvey Allen and Jimmy Lennox are sprawled in desk chairs and laughing at Castle like they've been part of the team for months. In addition to the new detectives, her team now includes five uniformed officers who are practically vibrating with excitement, each of them hoping that this will be the case that gets them promoted to detective.

Kate caps her Expo marker and turns to face her team. Castle is the first to notice that she's finished filling in the murder board, and he immediately straightens and gives her his full attention. Esposito frowns at him, but follows suit after a glance in her direction. Ryan is next, then Allen and Lennox and the rest. Kate stifles a smile and gets right to business.

"I want to keep this brief so that we can get right to work. As of now, we have two victims: Jamie Easton and Natalie Barton. Jamie was killed in a hotel room at the Waldorf during her sister's wedding. Natalie was killed in a back alley behind a nightclub called _Lumos_."

Kate gestures to each of their pictures when she mentions them, then points to her notes written in red marker.

"Each of the vics is in the 18 to 24 age range and comes from an affluent and well known family. The Eastons own a successful department store chain, and Barton's father is a well known stock trader."

"You think the murders have something to do with money?" Lennox asks.

"I'm not ruling it out," Kate answers. "The nature of the crime certainly indicates a lot of rage, so we could be looking at resentment of the families' status. Our first vic was given a dose of pancuronium, a drug that paralyzes the body but leaves the person fully conscious and aware. There's no needle marks on her body, so we have to assume she ingested it."

Kate flicks her gaze over the uniformed officers, watches the horror register on their young faces. She remembers being that young, though she doesn't remember being quite so bad at hiding her reactions.

"What'd the sick bastard do with her then?" Allen asks gruffly.

One of the uniformed officers, a pretty blonde, winces. Kate doesn't mince words. It won't do the officer any favors.

"He raped and tortured her. We don't have proof that Natalie Barton ingested pancuronium, but judging by the state of her body when we found her, it's a good assumption he treated them both the same."

The entire team is quiet, soaking it in. Kate gives them a minute. When she speaks again, her voice is measured. She can't stop thinking about the chill in her veins when Evans first explained the pancuronium. The chill hasn't gone away yet.

"I'm sure I don't have to explain that we need this guy off the streets, and we need it done quick. This is the only description we have of him." She points to the sketch that Jamie's estranged boyfriend helped create. "We know nothing else about him so far."

"Tell us where you want us, Beckett," Esposito says with his shoulders squared.

"Esposito, I want you to run the MO through the Real Time Crime Center. See if there's any that match ours, and look at recent prison releases especially." Esposito nods, and Kate turns to his partner. "Ryan, I want you to go through the security footage we have from _Lumos_ and the Waldorf. Look for anyone matching our sketch, but go broader too. Anything that seems out of place. Use Hamilton as another set of eyes."

A tall and gangly uniformed officer jumps to his feet when Kate says his name. Ryan eyes him warily, and Esposito snickers. Kate ignores him.

"Allen, I want you to take these four officers and canvas all the transit areas around both crime scenes with the sketch. See if anyone recognizes him. He had to get home somehow. Lennox, find out where that pancuronium came from. Hopefully our killer is an idiot and ordered it in bulk with his credit card. Let's get to work."

Everyone is up and moving, the uniforms chattering excitedly as they follow an already-exasperated Allen toward the elevator. Kate watches them go, rolling the Expo marker between the palms of her hands.

Castle sidles up next to her. "That was hot too."

Kate shakes her head and whispers, "One night without sex and you're a lascivious mess all day."

"Did you just say lascivious?"

"Concupiscent?"

His mouth falls open. She smirks.

He leans in conspiratorially. "Guess you'll have to tend to my needs if you want me to be useful for the rest of the day."

She prods him in the chest with the marker. "Who says I need you to be useful? I can solve this one all by myself." She meets his gaze with a smoldering look. "Maybe you should try doing something by yourself too, Castle."

He glares at her. "I hate you."

She grins. "Make sure you lock the door behind you."


	5. Trifecta

Kate only eats lunch because Castle brings it for her. He orders in for everybody, actually; beautifully crafted sandwiches from the deli down the street, chips and cookies and bottles of water. When he knocks on Gates' door and tells her to help herself, she even cracks a smile.

By dinner time, they've hit a wall. Evans has confirmed that the two murders are identical, right down to the pancuronium and the torture. He's also informed them that there's no trace evidence, fluids, hairs, or anything else that could be useful. The leads she and Castle were following ended up going nowhere. Ryan's been through the footage a dozen times and hasn't seen so much as a glimpse of their suspect, let alone anything suspicious. Allen returned from his canvas empty-handed save four disillusioned uniformed officers. Kate's taken up residence in front of the murder board, willing a new lead to appear, when Lennox slams a desk phone into its cradle in triumph.

"Got it," he says to Kate when she turns around.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Got what?"

"No private orders of pancuronium were placed in the last few months, but a few bottles were stolen from Manhattan General two weeks ago." He turns to his computer and taps the space bar impatiently, waiting for the machine to wake up. He looks at Kate with a grin. "They're emailing their list of employees with access right now, picture IDs included."

Kate's up on her feet in a heartbeat, adrenaline racing through her veins. Castle grins at her. The entire team crowds around Lennox, Kate in front. Lennox types in his username and password, and then opens the new email. Ryan tapes a copy of the suspect's sketch on the corner of the computer screen. Lennox scrolls through the attachment carefully, pausing at each picture. By the fourth page, Kate can feel her team deflating around her, but she refuses to stop looking at each picture carefully. She's rewarded on the fifth page.

"There," she says, pointing at the screen. "That resembles him. It's the haircut."

"Lee McElroy," Lennox reads. "Orderly at Manhattan General for six months, Mercy West the eight months before that, and Trinity for four months before that."

"Wonder why he's been bouncing from hospital to hospital," Esposito says.

"Stealing drugs is a good bet," Ryan pipes up.

"All right, let's pick him up," Castle says.

The entire team turns to look at him. Castle splutters. "Well, yes, obviously only if Detective Beckett thinks that we should since, you know, she's in charge and I'm just the writer. A very successful writer with lots of solved cases under his belt—" Kate lifts an eyebrow. "But I digress," he adds.

"He always like this?" Allen asks Esposito.

Esposito nods. "All the time."

"Don't get him started on the CIA," Ryan says.

"Just go pick up the suspect," Kate tells them, pinching the bridge of her nose.

X-X-X-X-X

"No," Kate says as soon as she sees Lee McElroy through the two-way mirror.

"No? What do you mean no?" Allen asks.

"I mean no. Look at him. It's not him."

"You can't tell that just by looking at him, Beckett."

"Yes she can," Castle argues.

Kate sighs. "Esposito, go ask our suspect if he wants a coffee." She looks at Allen. "Watch."

Everyone watches as Esposito opens the door to Interrogation 1. McElroy jumps out of his chair the second the door opens.

"You want a coffee?" Esposito asks.

"Coff…what? No. I mean. Yes? No. I'm sorry. No."

Esposito stares at him.

"Thank you for the offer though," McElroy adds hastily. He reaches up to tug at the collar of his gray polo, his hands obviously shaking. Esposito sends a significant look in the direction of the two-way mirror, and Kate gives the same look to Allen.

"So he's nervous," Allen says. "Maybe it's a guilty conscience."

"Our suspect drugged two women with a neuromuscular blocker, tortured and raped them, and then strangled the life out of them. Our suspect also gave himself a nickname and then wrote a letter to the media promising to kill more women. Lee McElroy jumps when he sees his own reflection. I've kissed more women than this guy."

Castle chokes on his coffee and sprays it all over the two-way mirror.

"Ew," Ryan mutters, crinkling his nose at the coffee dripping down the glass. The female officer in the room giggles, but the male is staring at Kate with the same expression Castle is wearing.

Allen is unfazed. He gestures at McElroy. "He's all we got, Beckett."

"He's a plant. A red herring. Our killer's trying to throw us off."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"If he doesn't have an alibi, you're going to have to put your gut feeling aside and acknowledge he might have a dark side. Everybody does."

Kate shakes her head. "We'll see. Come on, Castle."

Castle follows her out of the viewing room obediently, nearly tripping over her heels. "Uh, Kate?"

Kate doesn't even look at him. "I'm not telling you how many women I've kissed," she says. And then she swings open the door to Interrogation 1.

McElroy leaps to his feet. "Sit down," Kate orders.

He fumbles to sit, nearly falling out of the chair in the process. Kate watches with masked disdain. It's not McElroy himself that disgusts her—just that she's wasting time interrogating a red herring while the real suspect is out hunting his next victim. "You've been read your rights?" she asks.

He nods fervently. "Yes. Yes ma'am. I don't need a lawyer."

Kate settles into the chair across the table from him. "And why's that, Mr. McElroy?"

He frowns, confused. "Well, I didn't do anything."

"What do you think we think you did?"

His frown deepens. "Uh. What's the question?"

Kate leans back in her chair and studies him. "Where do you work, Mr. McElroy?"

"Manhattan General Hospital."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a custodian."

"So you have access to drugs like pancuronium?"

"Well, I suppose I…" he trails off, then widens his eyes. "Wait. You think I'm doing drugs? That's why I'm here?"

Kate leans forward and folds her hands on the table. "I'm a homicide detective. I don't give a shit what drugs you use unless you're using them to torture, rape, and kill my victims."

McElroy turns an unhealthy shade of white, and for a second Kate is convinced he's going to pass out. He tugs on the collar of his shirt again. His hands are still shaking.

"Ki…kill? What?"

"Where were you two nights ago between midnight and three AM?"

"Uh. Asleep?"

"And last night? Between one and five?"

"Asleep," he repeats dumbly.

Kate arches an eyebrow. "Can anyone corroborate that?"

"I…I was asleep."

"Yes, you said that already. Doesn't answer my question."

McElroy is starting to sweat. "No, no one. I was alone."

"You have dinner with anyone before that? Maybe catch a movie? Have a drink?"

"No. I went home after my shift—"

"What time was that?"

"Five. I went home at five, watched some TV, and went to bed."

Kate nods, but doesn't say anything else. She waits, and sure enough, McElroy starts to fidget. He fumbles with his collar for the hundredth time. His hands are so sweaty that he leaves dark smudges on the gray fabric after he touches it.

"Mr. McElroy," Castle starts, his voice soothing. Kate keeps her eyes glued on McElroy, who darts his eyes between her and Castle. "We noticed that you've had some trouble keeping a job. You haven't stayed more than a year at the last three hospitals you worked at."

McElroy blushes a brilliant shade of crimson and stutters. "Oh. Yeah. Well. I like a change of scenery."

"Were you fired, or did you quit?"

McElroy doesn't answer right away. "I resigned," he finally says.

Castle nods. "The forced resignation kind, or the two-weeks-notice kind?"

McElroy opens and closes his mouth, looking eerily like a fish. "Why does that matter?" he finally asks.

"You can answer the question, or we can call your bosses," Kate interrupts. "Whatever we find out, we'll be sure to pass on to your supervisor at Manhattan Gen."

McElroy shifts in his seat. "I was, uh, asked to resign."

"And why's that?" Castle asks, his voice still smooth.

"Some women, they uh…they thought I was watching them change? I wasn't! I swear! I was trying to do my job, and they hadn't closed the doors all the way, so…yeah. It wasn't really…it wasn't my fault."

"You did this at both hospitals?"

"I didn't do it at either! It's all a misunderstanding!"

"At two separate hospitals?" Kate presses.

McElroy says nothing.

Castle looks over at her, lifting his eyebrows. She purses her lips. She knows exactly what he's thinking. McElroy has no alibi, and now he's admitted to a history of sexual misconduct. Allen is going to tell her that McElroy is just putting on an act, and that he's their guy.

She doesn't buy that for one second.

She doesn't know much about their suspect, but she does know a few things. Nemesis, whoever he is, is smart. Smart enough to drug the women so they can't fight back, smart enough not to leave any trace evidence, and smart enough to slip unseen into an exclusive wedding and a nightclub. He's fearless, too, murdering the younger sister of the bride with hundreds of wedding guests just outside the door, and then murdering another woman outside in an alley where anyone could see. He's also arrogant as hell, naming himself Nemesis of all things, and then taunting the NYPD through the press. None of that coincides with the man sitting before her who has no presence, no confidence, and no intelligence behind his dull brown eyes. Kate doubts Lee McElroy is even capable of _acting_ like a sociopath, let alone being one.

"Excuse us for a moment, please," Kate says as she stands. Castle follows.

She's barely shut the interrogation room door behind her before Allen is in her face. "It's an act."

"No," Kate says patiently. "It's not."

"Come on, Beckett. He matches the sketch. He's got no alibi and he works at the hospital the pancuronium was stolen from. That's means and opportunity."

"What about motive?"

"He just told you he'd been fired from his other two jobs for sexual misconduct."

"He's a peeping tom, Allen. Not a rapist."

"Maybe he escalated."

"To rape? Besides, how'd he get in to the Easton wedding? You really think that guy could dress up as a caterer and charm Jamie Easton into accepting a drink? Or Natalie Barton for that matter? Women like them don't look twice at a guy like that."

"Maybe he didn't charm them," Lennox pipes up. "Maybe he has an accomplice."

Kate shakes her head. "We have no proof that there's an accomplice. You're dealing in speculation, and we can't afford to do that. If the pattern holds, we're going have another dead girl by morning. We're wasting time."

"You don't know that," Allen says emphatically.

That's when Gates appears. "What's the problem?" she asks, glancing between Kate and Allen.

"McElroy isn't our guy, sir," Kate answers.

"There's some disagreement on that," Allen says.

Kate glares at him. He has the grace to look a little sheepish, but that could be because Esposito and Ryan are glaring at him too.

"Does he have an alibi?" Gates asks.

"No, but—"

"How'd you find him?"

"He works at the hospital the pancuronium was stolen from," Allen explains. "He matches a sketch we have of the suspect, and he also has a history of sexual misconduct."

"He's a peeping tom. Not a rapist," Kate argues.

Gates thinks for a moment. The boys and Castle have drifted over to stand behind Kate, while Lennox is hovering behind Allen.

"Detective Beckett," she starts, "I'm sorry, but it seems like this is our strongest lead. Until you can prove otherwise with some actual evidence, McElroy is our guy."

Kate shakes her head insistently. "He's not our guy, sir. I can't explain why, I just know. If we hold him and stop looking for the real killer, we're going to have another dead body on our hands come morning."

"Well do you have another suspect in mind?"

Kate sighs. She's not going to win this one. "No."

"Then we don't have a choice. Take him to holding, Detective Allen." Allen looks thrilled. Kate glares at the floor. "Go home, Beckett," Gates adds. "Get some rest. We can start fresh in the morning."

She doesn't wait for an answer, and Kate doesn't give one. The team disperses, with Allen headed straight back to the interrogation room. Esposito claps his hand on her shoulder comfortingly on his way to his desk. Kate shakes her head.

"You okay?" Castle asks once everyone is out of earshot.

"He's out there hunting right now," she tells him. She glances at her father's watch. "Four AM, Five AM, we're going to get a call."

She finally looks at him. "Someone else is going to die."


	6. Double Trouble

Kate wakes in a cold sweat at 5:07.

At first, she's certain that her ringing cell phone has pulled her from her sleep. She fumbles for it, nearly knocking it off the table because her sleep-addled fingers aren't quite working yet. When she finally gets ahold of it, she's confused to see that it isn't ringing. She looks in recent calls, sees nothing new. No texts either. No alerts, except the score of the Knicks game. No one is dead.

Yet.

She stares at her phone until the screen clicks off automatically. Darkness descends again, black and impenetrable due to Castle's blackout curtains. After her eyes adjust to the ambient light that steals in from his study, she can make out the familiar shapes of his bedroom. The dresser, the chair, the doorway leading to his bathroom. She glances over and sees him still sleeping peacefully, his face smashed into his pillow and his hair standing on end. Affection spreads from her center, out into her fingertips, making her itch to card her fingers through his hair and snuggle back in, go back to sleep and forget everything.

She can't.

She slides out of bed and pads out into his study. At first, she considers reading. The spines of his books are crisp and appealing underneath her fingertips. But she doesn't want to read. How could she afford to get lost in someone else's world when a sociopath is hunting in her city?

She remembers reading a book when she was younger—something about a teenage boy surviving a plane crash and being forced to fight for his life in the Canadian wilderness. During a dive into a lake to search the plane wreckage for supplies, he found the body of the pilot with his face half-eaten by fish. Even amidst the boy's screams, the fish were still unashamedly nibbling away. She can't escape feeling like some amalgamation of the screaming, horrified boy, and the pilot who is being eaten into nothingness but can do nothing to stop it. It's how she felt when she finally fell asleep in Castle's arms a few hours ago, how she felt every time she woke up, and how she feels now as she paces out into his living room and over to a window.

The glass is cold under her palm. The sky is dark, but she can tell it's full. It's going to snow. Kate wonders briefly what her shrink would say about the image of the half-eaten face that she can't shake. Something about too much pressure on herself. But if she doesn't solve this, who will? The name Nemesis is open-ended, but that doesn't mean she hasn't taken it as a personal challenge.

She hears Castle shuffling in the doorway of his office. She doesn't turn around as he makes his way toward her. He wraps his arms around her gingerly, as if afraid that he's going to startle her. She wants to smile and tease him about how loud he is when he's half asleep, but she doesn't. In her bare feet, she's shorter than him. He bends his head, plants a kiss on her shoulder.

"Hi," he says.

She rests her hand on his forearm in response, traces her fingertips over his arm hair.

"We didn't get a call. If we did, you'd be dressed."

She doesn't answer right away. She knows him. He's going for hopeful, trying to encourage her with the thought that their killer might be slowing down, that the extra time will allow them to break the case. She thinks he's wrong, but she needs to hear the optimism in his voice to counteract the desolation in her veins.

"We'll see," she answers.

He nuzzles into her neck. "Come back to bed?"

She shakes her head. "I can't sleep." She waits, but he doesn't say anything. She knows he's exhausted, and she is, too. They've barely slept in the last two days. "You should go back to bed," she says quietly. She doesn't want to keep him awake with her morbid mental images and her compulsive savior-complex that—

"I'll make coffee," he says.

He starts to move toward the kitchen and she catches his hand, turns to face him. "Castle," she admonishes. He looks at her, waiting. "You can sleep."

He gives her a crooked smile. "Well yes, I can. But I won't."

"Because I'm not?"

He shrugs, let's her question be his answer.

She gives him a look. "You really don't need to do that."

"You're up, I'm up," he says, his voice soft but steel.

She closes the distance between them, kisses him with her hands on either side of his face. His hands find purchase on her waist, holding her against him. When she pulls away, she's breathless. It's moments like this, moments when his light chases away her dark that she wonders how she survived without him.

X-X-X-X-X

"I don't think 'I told you so' covers it," Allen says to Kate as soon as she steps out of her Crown Vic.

The temperature is just above freezing, the kind of cold that makes your skin hurt and your lungs ache. Every breath forms a white cloud as it comes from between her lips. She slides her hands into her pockets and shakes her head.

"Probably not, no," she tells him, but there's a smile tugging on her lips.

"Now I know for next time," he says, matching her smile.

It's seven in the morning. They're on Columbia's campus, headed toward a dorm that holds their third victim in three days. Nemesis works like clockwork, and Kate is afraid of how many more victims they're going to have before she can break the case.

Castle walks next to her, his body hunched against the cold. His shoulder bumps hers every now and then, sends a current of comfort through her body. They're ten yards from the dorm when a car screeches into the parking lot behind them.

Kate turns out of curiosity and immediately regrets it. It's a white conversion van with the words 19 ACTION NEWS blaring across the side in angry red and blue paint. Three men tumble out, one with a camera already on his shoulder. They must recognize her, because they start straight toward her.

"Shit," Castle mutters.

"Yeah," Kate says, steeling herself for the encounter.

Allen slips between her and the running reporters. "Go on. I'll handle this. I owe you."

Kate opens her mouth to tell him no. Two more news vans barrel into the parking lot. She closes her mouth and pushes Castle into the dorm.

Warm air nails them full in the face when they enter, blowing Kate's hair back from her face. Castle groans and holds up his hand to block it, looks up to see a heater above the door. "Well that's one way to rid the chill," he mutters grumpily. "My eyes are watering."

Kate smiles and nudges him with an elbow. "You're cranky."

He pulls a face at her, and she laughs as she fixes her hair. He smiles, pleased.

"Beckett," Esposito calls. Kate turns, sees him beckoning at her from down a hallway. When they reach the dorm door, the stench of blood immediately assaults them. Kate swallows and then opens her mouth to breathe. Castle, despite his five years with her, is still sleepy and not prepared. He goes still next to her, and when she glances over at him, his gaze is locked on the dead girl. She knows he's thinking of the other two dead girls, and of Alexis who is in a dorm room not far away, and part of her breaks. Again.

"Hey," she says. "I could use a coffee."

He finally breaks his stare and looks at her. He shakes his head resolutely. "No."

She tilts her head. "Maybe you could meet Alexis before her first class? Bring me a coffee back when you're done?"

His daughter's name has the desired effect. He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "She's got Statistics at eight thirty."

"Perfect," Kate says, trying to keep her voice light.

His hand slides along her lower back as he starts to leave. "If you need me," he starts.

She looks up at him. "You'll be the first to know."

She watches him leave. Once he's out of sight, she turns to Esposito. He's watching her carefully. She expects him to tease her, but his expression doesn't hold a trace of humor.

"Okay?" he asks.

She nods once. "Yes. What've we got?"

"Annabelle Vaughn. 18 years old, freshman pre-med major."

Kate's stomach drops. Thank God she sent Castle away.

"Same look as the other two," Esposito continues. "Her roommate found her this morning when she came back from staying with her boyfriend."

"Where's Evans?" Kate asks.

"Family emergency," Lanie's voice answers. Kate frowns. Esposito steps aside to reveal Lanie kneeling next to the bed, examining the girl's fingernails. "You're stuck with me," the M.E. says, punctuating it with a warm smile.

"I'm so disappointed," Kate teases. "Javi brought you up to speed?"

"Sure did. I'm not making any definitive statements, but I'd bet my license this is your third victim."

Kate sighs as she studies Annabelle Vaughn's dead body. "That's what I was afraid of. You think she got a piece of him under her nails?"

Lanie shakes her head as she stands. "I don't know. Javi said your other victims were given pancuronium, so they didn't fight and there was no trace evidence. But look at this room."

Kate looks around. "Books are disturbed," she says, pointing at a bookshelf at the foot of the bed. A few books are teetering dangerously close to the end of a shelf. She sweeps her eyes over the rest of the room. "Sheets are messed up. Picture frame above the bed is crooked."

Lanie nods. "I think Annabelle here fought back before he drugged her."

Kate eyes the smooth red line around Annabelle's neck. She's betting it's the same COD. "Our profile says these girls went willingly with our perp before being drugged," she says. She turns, examines the door. "No sign of forced entry."

"One wine glass," Esposito says, nodding at a lone, half-filled wine glass sitting next to the bed. He looks at Kate. "Maybe there were two?"

"Why take it?" Lanie asks.

"Better take it then risk the chance he didn't wipe it clean enough," Kate says. "She let him in here, but something changed. Date night gone wrong."

"Real wrong," Lanie murmurs, staring at Annabelle.

"Beckett," Ryan says excitedly from the door. "Come see what I've got."

Kate follows him out the back of the dorm and into a cramped one room building that sits on the edge of a large quad. She strains her ears, but can't hear the press. Maybe they went away.

Yeah. Right.

The building smells like coffee and dust. Kate wants to take her coat off because it's insufferably hot, but she resists.

"This is Steve, from campus Safety and Security," Ryan says, gesturing toward a paunchy, middle-aged white man who has squeezed himself into a desk chair. Steve looks up with a Styrofoam cup of coffee halfway to his lips. When his eyes fall on Kate, he freezes.

"Hi," Kate says.

He swallows. "Hi. Uh. Detective Beckett?"

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Yes, Detective Beckett. Can you show her what you have, please?"

Steve snaps to attention. He sits up straighter as he fiddles with the mouse of his computer. Ryan is giving her a look, but Kate ignores him. Steve points at his screen.

"The girl…our vic," he corrects, clearing his throat. "Enters the premises at approximately two in the morning."

He clicks play, and Kate leans over to get a better view. Steve goes still, darting obvious glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Who's she with?" Kate asks.

"Huh? Oh. Well, I don't know. He's wearing a hat and he keeps his head down, see?"

Sure enough, whoever the guy is, he's got on a baseball cap, and he stares at his feet the entire time he's on camera with Annabelle, which isn't long.

"They're holding hands," Ryan points out. Kate nods. It matches the date gone wrong theory. "Fast forward, Steve."

Steve obeys and fast forwards the tape two hours. Kate watches the timestamp change with a sickened feeling. The bastard tortured her for two _hours_.

"Stop!" Ryan commands. Steve fumbles to obey. He pauses on a shot of the same man who'd entered with Annabelle, only this time he's alone. "Watch," Ryan tells her. "Play it, Steve."

Steve clicks play, and Kate watches as the man in the baseball cap hurries toward the door, and then inexplicably stops. He waits, his head still down, and then another man, this one in a stocking cap, comes into view. The second man stops right behind him, seeming to whisper something to the first man. And then the second man pushes the door open and they both leave.

"Freeze that," Kate orders. Steve barely manages to click in time, but the computer freezes on the two men just before they disappear from view.

Ryan's eyes are bright when she turns to look at him. "We've got two perps," he says.


	7. Closing In

Kate leaves Ryan with orders to get copies of the footage from the dorm and surrounding areas and then scrub it for anything helpful. She walks back toward the dorm slowly, digesting the information. Two perps. On the one hand, it makes more sense. The public nature of the first two murders seems less bold now that she knows he has a lookout. On the other hand, it makes the crimes even more horrifying. Being tortured by one sociopath is bad enough. But two? She shudders just thinking about it.

In the dorm lobby, Lennox waves her down. "I spoke to the vic's roommate, the girl who found her," he says. "She painted an interesting picture of our vic."

"What do you mean?"

"Well our first two victims were party girls, right?"

Kate shrugs. "Most accounts said that they liked to have a good time, yeah. Both of them were at parties and were intoxicated when they died. Why? Was Annabelle a partier?"

"Complete opposite. Her roommate said all Annabelle did was study and go to class. No parties, no dating."

"But she brought the perp back to her room," Kate says. "They were holding hands. Looked like a date to me. Maybe the roommate doesn't know her as well as she thinks."

"That's why I interviewed some other students in the dorm. Two girls told me that on two recent but separate occasions, they've seen Annabelle hanging out with a 'sweet looking guy who seemed really into her.'"

Kate nods. "She had a new boyfriend."

Lennox gives her a pointed look. "And her new boyfriend killed her."

"Sounds like it. Get the girls to a sketch artist, okay?"

"You think he'll match our sketch?"

"We've got two perps. If he doesn't, it's because he's our second man."

X-X-X-X-X

Kate's making another lap of the crime scene, discussing the new findings with Lanie and Esposito when Castle reappears. She ushers him into the hallway under the pretense of getting out of the way of CSU. Once in the hallway, he presents her with a coffee.

"I sprung for the big one," he tells her. "Thought you could use it."

"Thanks," she says, smiling at him before taking a sip. His voice is lighter, shoulders less tense, eyes not as dark. _Thank you, Alexis,_ she thinks. "I'm headed to the Dean of Students to get next of kin info. But guess what? We've got some new leads."

"Really? Like what?"

Kate starts toward the door. "Like we've got two perps."

Castle stares at her. "No way."

"Yes way. And one of them appears to have been Annabelle's new boyfriend. The way rumors fly around a college campus, I'm betting we can piece together enough information about him to get an ID."

"That's great," Castle says, the optimism sliding back into his voice.

Kate's smile doesn't stay long. The second she opens the door, she's bombarded with a million camera flashes and shouted questions.

"Damn it," she mutters.

"Oh," Castle says, shielding his eyes. "I forgot about them."

"Me too," she says. "At least they're behind the tape and not in my face."

"For their safety, not ours," Castle quips.

"Hey," Allen greets breathlessly, stopping in front of her. "I got sawhorses and tape set up and called for backup, which got here about twenty minutes ago. We'll have to push through to get to your car, but we'll make sure you get there without incident."

Kate smirks at him. "Gates tell you to make sure I don't kill any of them?"

Allen shrugs. "Maybe. Personally, I wouldn't mind witnessing that beat down."

"Wouldn't we all," Castle sighs wistfully.

Kate gives him a look and then turns back to Allen. "What're they saying?"

"Anonymous call to all the major stations that Nemesis struck again on Columbia's campus. That's why those assholes from 19 Action News got here right when we did."

"Our perp is a fame whore," Castle says, peering out into the crowd. "I bet he's here, basking in his handiwork."

"Take video and pictures of the crowd," Kate tells Allen. "Castle might be right."

"You got it." He motions to a pair of nearby uniforms, who trot over. "Get Detective Beckett to her car without incident," he orders.

"Nikki Heat the loose cannon," Castle whispers in her ear.

Kate rolls her eyes.

X-X-X-X-X

The next of kin notification is difficult, as always, but it's also informative. Annabelle Vaughn is the only daughter of Matthew and Elise Vaughn. Matthew is an investment banker worth millions and then some. He and his wife are heartbroken. As Elise sobs and Matthew tries to comfort her, he explains that Annabelle was a quiet, introverted girl. She had dreams of a career in medical research. She was shy, so she had few friends and even fewer boyfriends. When Kate asks about a recent boyfriend she'd been seen around campus with, both Matthew and Elise are mystified.

Kate isn't.

The pieces are falling into place. Each of the three victims comes from an obnoxiously wealthy family. Each of the victims is also in the 18 to 24 age range, young and pretty, with bright futures ahead of them. Jamie and Natalie were known party girls; socialites in every sense of the word, young women who were charming and fun and loved being out and about. Annabelle, however, was the exact opposite. And it's Annabelle who Kate thinks will break this case wide open.

"It's simple," she says to Castle on the way out of the Vaughn's building. "Whoever the hell Nemesis is, he's carefully planned each murder. That's why there's no trace evidence, and that's why he knew Jamie and Natalie would be open to a free drink from a flirty stranger. He's been watching them."

"But he didn't watch Annabelle?"

"No, he did. But she's different. She doesn't go out to clubs, doesn't go on dates. He knew that drugging Annabelle would be harder because she isn't going to accept a drink from just anybody. He had to win her trust."

"So he enlists the help of a friend, because he can't win Annabelle's trust and stalk and kill his other victims at the same time."

"Maybe," Kate says. "Or maybe his friend was enlisted all along. Maybe he's in on it."

"So what's their motive?"

Kate sighs. "I wish I knew. Can't ignore the one connection they all have though."

"Money?"

"Money."

X-X-X-X-X

At noon, Kate calls a team meeting. Everyone except Ryan is present; he's busy scrubbing the dorm footage, and she doesn't want him to stop.

A second murder board has been rolled up next to the first. Annabelle's information is up there, right next to Kate's all caps blue letters that say TWO PERPS. Esposito starts. He reads off Lanie's report, which confirms the presence of pancuronium in Annabelle's blood. Kate nods, not surprised, but Esposito stops her from moving on.

"That's not all. Doc found skin underneath her fingernails. Nobody in the system, but she says if you get her a sample, she can match it."

Lennox is next; he's been canvassing the campus with uniforms all morning, looking for information about Annabelle's mysterious boyfriend. He has a sketch, and when he tapes it to the board, Kate squints at it.

"They look similar," she observes.

"Right," Lennox says. "I'm thinking maybe they're the same guy."

"Different hair," Esposito points out.

"Wig," Castle counters. "He's meticulously planned all this out. Why not add a few costume changes to the mix?"

Everyone looks at Kate. She shrugs. "It's possible. Allen?"

"I looked for a connection between our victims, like you asked," he says. "It doesn't appear that they were close friends, but they did all know each other."

"How?"

"Their fathers are all friends. They were in the same fraternity at Yale. Sigma Phi Epsilon." He holds up a picture of fifty or so fraternity brothers, all in shirts and ties and smiling broadly.

"If that's the connection, we should be looking at the frat brothers," Esposito says. "Maybe it's a revenge thing."

"Look at the sketches, though," Kate says, pointing to them both. "You can change your appearance with a wig, facial hair, clothes—but you'd be hard pressed to change your age, especially to look younger. When's that picture from, Allen?"

Allen checks. "1973."

"One of the brothers would be fifty now, give or take a few years. No way one of them would be able to get in with Jamie and Natalie. And certainly not Annabelle."

"Maybe his partner is the one getting in with them," Castle says.

Kate shakes her head. "I saw the video of them from the dorm. They're both young. The fraternity is the connection, but I don't think it's a brother. Maybe someone close to a brother, but not an actual brother. Not from 1973, anyway."

"Want me to look into them?" Allen asks.

"Yes. You and Lennox. Start with the president of the frat from the year that picture was taken. Find out who Barton, Easton, and Vaughn were friends with, who their enemies were, and why someone might want their daughters dead."

"Beckett!" Ryan shouts from the conference room. "Get in here!"

Kate nearly trips over Castle, who can't get out of his chair fast enough. When they get inside the room, Ryan has the footage from the dorm up on the screen. "Look," he says pointing at the second man, the one in the stocking cap.

"What am I looking at?" Kate asks.

"His wrist. Here." Ryan flicks his hand, zooms in on the second man's wrist and then enlarges and clears the picture. "A tattoo."

Kate stares at it. "The scales of justice? Are you kidding me?"

"This guys a psycho," Esposito says, but he barely gets the words out before Castle is shouting.

"Nemesis! Of _course_!" He slaps his hand to his forehead.

"Castle?" Kate asks. "Care to share with the class?"

"It's been bothering me all day," he says, turning to Kate. "Nemesis sounded so familiar, and I couldn't figure out why. It makes sense now. Nemesis is the goddess of revenge. More specifically, she's considered to be a goddess of restoring balance."

"Balancing the scales of justice," Kate finishes.

"Exactly. She prides herself on punishing those who have too much or those who suffer from hubris."

"Hu—what?" Allen says.

"Pride," Kate and Castle say at the same time.

"He thinks he's Nemesis," Kate says.

Castle nods. "Personally doling out justice to those he believes have too much money or are too proud."

"Not them, Castle. The sins of the father. He's taking it out on their children."

"Less than twenty four hours before we have another victim," Lennox says.

Kate breaks eye contact with Castle, turns back to Ryan. "Send it to the ink and scar database at the RTCC. I want to know who has that tattoo."


	8. Exposed

"Tat belongs to a Clark Keller," Ryan says, sliding his cell phone back into his pocket.

Kate watches as he brings up Clark Keller's file on the touch screen in the conference room. Castle appears next to her, holds out a steaming mug of coffee. She lets her fingers linger over his in thanks, but she can't pull her eyes away from Ryan. In a few seconds, a photo of Clark Keller fills the screen.

Kate steps closer, looks straight into his eyes. "Talk to me," she says to Ryan.

"Born in 1986. Mother, Jennifer Keller, died in '89 while giving birth to his younger brother, Thomas. Boys were raised by their father, Travis Keller, until his suicide in 2002."

"2002," Kate repeats. "Clark was 16. Living relatives?"

"None that would take them. They went to ACS. Same family, at least."

"And then?"

"2004, Clark turned 18 and petitioned for custody of his younger brother. Judge wouldn't grant it. Thomas stayed with the foster family, and Clark joined the Army."

"Military records?"

"Rash of disciplinary problems, most including violence. Dishonorably discharged in September of '10."

Kate doesn't ask another question, and Ryan doesn't keep reading. She studies Clark Keller's face, looking for clues. Orphaned foster kid turned soldier, no apparent connection to the Eastons, Bartons, or Vaughns. Bouts of violence that led to his dismissal from the only job he's ever known.

Something is missing.

"You think he's our guy?" Castle asks.

"We've got him on tape, tattoo confirms it."

"But?"

"But why?" She finally turns to look at Castle. "How does Clark Keller know any of the people in that fraternity? Is the fraternity connection just a coincidence? And whether it is or not, why would Keller go after them in the first place?"

"Maybe you just answered your own question," Castle replies. "Kid loses both his parents, can't adopt his brother. He joins the military, thinks it'll give his life meaning, but after six years it still hasn't. So he snaps. He wants to punish the people who he thinks have it better than he does."

She shakes her head, looks back at Clark Keller's unsmiling face. "People don't just snap, though. There's no such thing as spontaneous combustion. There's always a trigger."

"Whether we know why or not, he's still our guy," Esposito pipes up. "We gotta bring him in."

Kate nods. "Yeah. But what about his partner?"

"Uh, Beckett?"

She turns, looks at Ryan. He nods at the screen.

"Clark Keller lives with his brother, Thomas, in Washington Heights."

Kate connects the dots. "Bring me the sketches," she tells Allen. He jogs off to get them. She starts to tell Ryan to bring up a picture of Thomas Keller, but he's already doing it. Allen returns and hands her the sketches. Kate holds them up next to the screen.

"Well I'll be damned," she says. "Annabelle's boyfriend is Thomas Keller."

"Family affair," Lennox snorts. "Adorable."

"Okay," Kate says, turning to her team, "Lennox, I want you to stay on the frat lead. Call the president, ask him about Clark Keller, see if it rings a bell. If we can't get these guys, we need to know who he could go after next, so grab some of the uniforms. Have them figure out which brothers live in Manhattan or have daughters so we can narrow our focus."

She turns to Allen. "Call ACS.I want to know what kind of kids the Keller boys were."

Finally, she turns to her boys. "Let's go pick them up."

X-X-X-X-X

Kate lives for moments like this.

The SWAT leader's name is Harris, a guy about her age with a strong jaw and a crew cut. They study a map of the Keller's apartment complex on the hood of the SWAT truck and then go over the plan. He excuses himself to gather his team. She checks the earpiece in her ear, runs her hand over the Velcro of her NYPD vest. Her gun comes next, light and steely cold in her hand. Her leg holster with her back-up is wrapped around her thigh. Nearby, Esposito checks his rifle. Past him, Castle is pulling on his vest with WRITER emblazoned on the front. She stills.

She doesn't want him to go in. He'll stay in the back and do as he's told; he's learned that much by now. But she doesn't want him to go. She wants him to stay in the car and wait, well out of harm's way, until she's done.

He looks up at her and starts to smile, but stops. He must be able to read the look on her face. She makes her way toward him. "Castle."

"You want me to stay here."

She chews her lip. "Wouldn't be the worst idea ever," she says.

He shakes his head. "I'm fine. I'll stay out of the way. I promise."

"Beckett," Harris calls. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she answers over her shoulder. "Do what you're supposed to or you're in big trouble," she tells Castle.

He grins. "Promise?"

Esposito and Ryan appear on her flanks, and she doesn't have time to answer. She just moves.

Yes, moments like this. Moments when her body feels so fluid she's practically liquid, sliding silently into the apartment complex and up the stairs, two at a time; moments when her heartbeat turns into a steady thrum of _alive_ instead of a staccato beat. Esposito and Ryan are at her back, the dark uniformed bodies of the SWAT team in front of her. Everything is calm and ordered and she's in complete control of it all, even though she has no idea what's about to happen.

They stop outside the apartment. Harris bangs his fist on the door. "Clark and Thomas Keller, NYPD. Open up."

They listen, but there's no noise. Harris motions to his team, and then the pace picks up; the door is kicked in and they're flooding into the room, shouting out their credentials and fanning out with their weapons drawn. Kate hears _all clear_ ring out three times, punctuated by her own call as she finishes her check.

"Nobody's home," Esposito says, lowering his rifle.

Castle peers around the door. Kate holsters her weapon and starts poking around. The apartment is every inch a bachelor pad. No decorations, sparse furniture, nothing but beer and meat in the fridge. She calls CSU in to sweep the place, but it doesn't look like they'll find anything. If the Kellers have a plan, it's not anywhere in their apartment.

"When CSU is done, leave a patrol car here to give us a heads up when they get back," Kate tells Esposito. "Have Ryan put out an APB and get their pictures to the media. I'm going to head back to the precinct, check in with Allen and Lennox. Hopefully we'll find the Keller boys before they find another victim."

Instead of leaving, Kate lingers in the sitting room, her attention caught by the only picture in the entire apartment: Clark and Thomas Keller on either side of an man who looks like an older version of Clark.

"Must be Travis Keller," Castle says in her ear.

"Yeah," she says. "You think this has something to do with him?"

"How so?"

"I don't know. But this is the only picture in the apartment, Castle. It's got to mean something."

"You think maybe the dad has something to do with Clark going psycho?"

"Let's get back to the precinct and find out."

X-X-X-X-X

Clark Keller peers through his binoculars. Through the living room windows, he can see groups of cops and techs ransacking his apartment. They won't find anything. He's not that stupid.

He scans the street below until he finds her. Detective Beckett.

She's hot.

She's also a royal pain in his ass. This is not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to get two more girls in before his finale. He doesn't have the press where he wants them, and he doesn't have New Yorkers properly terrified yet. Thanks to Kate Beckett, he's going to have to move his timeline up.

"How's it look?"

Clark lowers the binoculars and looks over at Tommy. If he's honest with himself, this is partly Tommy's fault. His brother had one job: get into Annabelle's pants. He did it, but he fell for her in the process. When it came time for the job, Tommy couldn't do it. He'd only gotten as far as the pancuronium, and then he chickened out and had to call Clark to finish the job. If Clark had to guess, he'd say that's how the hot detective found them. He doesn't know how, but everything was perfect until that night at Columbia.

"Fine," Clark answers coldly.

"They're at our apartment," Tommy mumbles. "Can't be that fine."

Clark turns on his younger brother, gives him a glare. Tommy shifts under his gaze. "It's as fine as it can be, considering."

"Considering I messed up," Tommy supplies.

Clark shrugs. "You said it." He turns back to his binoculars, finds Beckett again. The wind picks up, moves her hair. She brushes it away. Clark wonders what she's like in bed. She's got a face made for TV.

"Maybe we should stop now. Get out of town."

"You're right, Dad would love that."

Tommy doesn't answer, but Clark doesn't notice. He's watching Beckett weave her way through a crowd of press. She looks beyond irritated, but the reporters can't get enough of her. He'd like to think that part of it is the stir he's caused as Nemesis, but every article and news report he's seen on himself also includes a blurb about Nikki Heat. Seems Detective Beckett is a minor celebrity with an uncanny ability to attract attention—despite her obvious dislike of it.

Maybe he can use this to his advantage. He needs to get her out of the way, anyway. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

"We have to move the timeline up," he says.

"Move it up?"

"The finale," Clark clarifies, turning back to his brother. "Scratch the next two girls, move straight to the finale."

"But you said we needed five. We had to cover all of them. So they get punished and the press is hooked."

"That was before Detective Barbie figured out who we are. In an hour, they're going to have our faces all over the news. We have to move now. But we're going to change the rules."

Tommy couldn't look more apprehensive if he tried. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the only way we're going to make up for the press we'll lose by skipping the next two murders is by using _her_."

"Her who?"

Clark shoves the binoculars into Tommy's chest. "Detective Beckett. The one that's in charge of the investigation."

Tommy squints through the lenses. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. _Look_ at her." Clark smacks the top of the binoculars, makes Tommy jump. "She's already famous thanks to the author. She's smart. Pretty. Serves the people and gets justice and all that crap."

"So she's our next victim?"

"Are you trying to be an idiot? No. She's our insurance. She's how we'll make sure he tells the truth. Imagine what people will do if his lies hurt _her_."

X-X-X-X-X

There isn't any news at the precinct.

Kate was riding a high when she stepped off the elevator, ready for solid leads from Lennox and Allen, or a call from the CSU team back at the Keller apartment that would crack this case wide open and tell her where to find her serial killers.

No such luck.

Allen is getting the runaround from ACS, who can't seem to pinpoint which case worker was in charge of the Keller case, let alone whether or not that case worker is still employed with the department. Lennox left messages for the Sigma Phi Epsilon president, Jason Carter, on his work phone, home phone, and cell phone. He has yet to receive a call back. The APB has brought back zilch. But even all that is nothing compared to the epic headache she's getting from the media.

The pictures of the Keller boys were released to the media around noon, along with a tip line number. Since then, they've been barraged with hundreds of phone calls ranging from useless with good intentions to downright creepy. She's been taking phone calls all afternoon, waiting for something to break, but there's nothing. It's starting to get to her.

Castle tries to keep her occupied, filling her coffee mug and crafting her hideous jewelry out of office supplies, but she can't focus on anything but the stone cold wall they've run into. The clock is ticking. It's five in the afternoon, and in twelve hours or so, she's going to be looking at another dead body.

And then Allen pulls through for her.

"Beckett," he says as he drops his desk phone back in its cradle. "Finally got ahold of the ACS worker who was in charge of the Keller case."

"Finally," Kate says, turning away from the murder board. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lennox jumping to answer his phone. Hopefully it's Jason Carter, but she's not holding her breath. Castle, meanwhile, is fumbling with his newest creation, a paperclip necklace that has a blue magnet he found god knows where hanging from the center. He's calling it her Heart of the Ocean.

"Shit—oh _ow_!" he yelps. He thrusts his thumb into his mouth and looks up at her with puppy eyes. She rolls her eyes.

"What'd she say?" she asks Allen.

"She's faxing over the files, but she had some interesting things to say about the boys' foster care experience."

"Like?"

"Like they went through two different families before they finally moved in permanently with a couple named Henry and Lilly Jackson."

"Why the moves?"

"Abuse." The realization clicks in Kate's mind, and Allen must read it on her face. "Yeah," he says to her unspoken question. "Sexual abuse."

"Well that explains part of the puzzle," she says, turning to Castle. "Victims of childhood sex abuse are more likely to grow up into perpetrators themselves."

Castle pulls his finger from his mouth. "Still doesn't explain the reason for the targets though."

"Oh, I've got an answer to that too," Allen says. He pulls the fraternity picture from the murder board. He holds it up and points at a man in the back row. "Did you know that their father used to run in the same circle as Henry Easton, Charles Barton, and Matthew Vaughn?"

Kate is up in a heartbeat, plucking the photo out of Allen's hand. Sure enough, there in the back row, looking younger but still very much the same, is Travis Keller. "He was in the fraternity."

"Bingo. Travis Keller was the only child of a working class couple from Brooklyn. Went to Yale on a scholarship."

"How'd he go from Yale to suicide?" Castle wonders.

"September 11th. According to his suicide note, he had every penny in his name invested in his dream of opening a restaurant. He was set to open two blocks from the towers in October of 2001. After 9/11, the building was condemned and he lost all his investments in the market crash. Last thing he wrote in his note was that he hoped his brothers would be kinder to his sons than they were to him."

"Brothers?" Kate says with a frown. "You said he was an only child."

Castle stands up, his paperclip necklace forgotten. He taps the picture in her hand. "Fraternity brothers, Beckett. I bet you when Travis Keller lost it all, he went to his rich friends and asked for help. And I bet you they refused. That's why the Keller boys are killing the daughters. You were right. Sins of the father."

Kate chews her lip. She's been holding off on calling any of the other fraternity brothers because she was hoping they'd catch the Keller boys without inciting a panic. Even though they've finally pieced together the motive, they're no closer to catching the bad guys. She turns to Allen. "You got that list of brothers who are in the tri-state area?"

"Hamilton has it. I'll go get it."

"Beckett!" Gates roars from her office.

Kate goes ramrod straight, confused. Gates appears in her doorway, waving furiously at the television in the conference room. "TV. Now. Channel three."

Something about her voice sends Kate sprinting toward the TV. Castle is hot on her heels and so is Allen. Kate fumbles with the buttons, finally gets the ancient TV on and tuned in to the right channel.

"If you're just joining us," the anchor says as if on cue, "you're just in time. We've received an exclusive video message from Nemesis, the serial killer who has been terrorizing Manhattan for the past three days. Be careful, folks—this isn't a video for the kids."

There's a pause, and then the screen flickers, clicks over to a video. The camera moves, and then Clark Keller appears on screen.

"He's smiling," Allen says. "Sick asshole."

"Hello, world," Clark says to the camera. "This is Nemesis, your friendly neighborhood serial killer. I figured it's about time I show you my face, now that it's all over the news anyway. You really could have found a better picture, Detective Beckett."

Castle swings around to stare at her, and Kate knows exactly what he's thinking, the fear that's suddenly eating away at him. She wants to say she's exempt from it, but she's not. It's nibbling away at her too.

"Just wanted to give you a heads up that my finale is coming real soon. Lucky for you, you're going to get an exclusive look at it, so stay tuned. I'll keep you posted."

The video ends abruptly. Kate stares at the screen.

"Finale," Castle echoes. "He knows who you are."

"No," Kate says, catching on to his implication immediately. She looks at him, shaking her head. "I'm not his finale, Castle."

"He _knows_ you."

"He's taunting me. There's a difference." She holds up the fraternity picture. "One of these men is his finale. We need to figure out who. Get the list, Allen."

Allen disappears obediently. Castle doesn't look convinced, but Kate doesn't have the energy to debate with him. She looks down at the picture. Someone else is going to die, and it's going to be just as needless as the first three murders. It's not as though she doesn't understand the impulse of revenge. If anyone understands it, she does. There is nothing she would rather do than make Senator Bracken pay for what he did to her mother. The difference is that she doesn't act on it. She doesn't sink; she rises.

Is it fair to hold the Kellers to the same standard? She will never, _never_ condone what they've done—what they're _doing_. But they, too, grew up without their mother. Only unlike her, they ended up losing their father, too. Their father's friends, who swore an oath of brotherhood, did nothing to stop them from going into the foster system, from getting abused by the people who were supposed to care for them. Kate can't imagine what they've gone through.

But she can't understand their choice, either. Not when people's lives are on the line. She scans the picture, taking in the faces of each of the brothers, and then freezes. The breath leaves her lungs in a whoosh. She can feel the blood draining from her face, the shock taking over.

"Castle," she croaks.

He startles at the sound of her voice, moves in close. "What? What is it?"

She swallows, points to the face she can't look away from. "That's Senator Bracken."

"Beckett," Lennox shouts.

Kate looks up, dazed. She moves into the bullpen, nearly tripping over her own feet. Lennox looks grave, his hand over the speaker of his phone as he talks to her.

"I'm on the phone with Jason Carter. Travis Keller was close with Easton, Barton, Vaughn, and a few others. But his best friend was Senator William Bracken. They were inseparable."

Kate looks over at Castle, breathless. He shakes his head. "Bracken doesn't have a daughter who fits the MO."

"They don't want a daughter. Didn't you hear him? This is the finale, and Bracken was the best friend. They're going to kill him."


	9. Stolen

Bracken's wife says he's still at work. Bracken's secretary says he sent her home. Bracken won't answer his office phone or his cell phone.

Kate's driving like a maniac to get to him.

Every time she pushes harder on the gas pedal, a little voice inside of her says she should be pushing the brake instead. She should be driving slower. She should yield to the yellow light instead of blazing through it at full speed with her siren wailing. She should let the Keller boys have Bracken, torture him until he cries like the coward he is, and then she can tack his face up on her murder board and pretend she cares, but really she'll only want to find the Kellers so she can shake their hands and tell them thank you.

She should _not_ be thinking that.

"You okay?" Castle asks quietly.

She takes a hard right, chews on her lip as she tries to think of an appropriate answer. She settles on, "Fine."

She can feel him staring at her. She expects him to argue, but he just keeps staring. She shifts in her seat, weaves between a pair of cabs. He doesn't look away.

"No," she says petulantly, like admitting to what he obviously already knows is somehow an annoyance. It's not. Maybe three years ago. Usually—now that they're together—it's comforting. But right now? Right now it's a little terrifying, because she doesn't want anyone else to know how she's split down the middle like some horrific version of Solomon's baby, half of her wanting to find Bracken safe and the other half of her wanting him to get exactly what he deserves.

"It's okay," he says, as though he can read her mind, which really doesn't make her feel any better.

She cuts a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, only to see that he's looking out the window. She feels it welling up inside of her, this new word vomit that she's been experiencing since Cole Maddox left her hanging from a roof. It's been months, but she's still not used to things spilling out of her.

"I think I'm scared."

He turns his head slowly. He does that sometimes; moves slowly, speaks softly, as though she's a wild animal that can be startled into bolting.

"Of not catching the Kellers?" he prompts gently.

She swallows, the words caught in her throat. _It's Castle_, she reminds herself. _He loves you._

Surely that won't change?

"Of not wanting to catch them," she whispers. "Not anymore."

He doesn't say anything. Her stomach drops, the terror eating away at her, familiar because it was how she spent all of last year, scared that she wasn't whole enough for him. But when she chances a glance at him, he's got so much love brimming in his eyes that it makes her breathless, makes her chest squeeze.

"You didn't have to come," he says. "Ryan and Esposito—they offered to come alone."

She shakes her head. "I had to come."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to."

He frowns, an adorable crease between his eyebrows. "I don't understand."

She exhales slowly, chews her lip. The gumball on top of her car is casting a red and blue glow on the snow as it whizzes past her windows. The colors are so distinct. So separate. Not at all like the red of blood on the blue of an NYPD dress uniform. Not at all like Montgomery's blood soaking into the dark wash of her jeans when she kneeled next to his body.

Finally, she shakes her head. "I'm not him. I…I do right. Even when it's hard. Even when it isn't what I want."

"You say that like I didn't know that already."

She looks over at him, surprised. He smiles.

"You're the only one who doubts you, Kate. I never questioned your integrity. Not once."

"And if part of me wants them to kill him?"

"Then part of you is human." He grins. "Not all of you. That stubborn streak is superhuman."

She can't help it. She smiles.

And then suddenly they've arrived. She brings the car to a screeching halt, sends Castle jolting forward so that his palm lands on the dash with a loud smack. She's out of the car and checking her gun simultaneously, Ryan and Esposito doing the same. She pulls on her vest, tries not to look at Castle while he pulls on his. Maybe he's right. Maybe what she's feeling makes her human. But it worries her. She likes solid ground, and the slope she's on the brink of is too slippery, even for her.

"Let's go," she barks at the boys. They fall in behind her, one on either side. The air is bitingly cold. The snow is in fresh layers all around, still falling, and she catches a glimpse of it sticking in Castle's hair just before she turns. She keeps her eyes closed for a fraction of a second on a blink, wanting to hold on to the memory, wanting to use it to remind her that whatever they find on the other side of this door, what Castle sees when he looks at her is what she will always, _always_ try to be.

Stairs move beneath her feet without a conscious effort to climb them; doors open, orders are given, rooms are cleared. Everything is a blur until she's standing next to Senator Bracken's empty leather desk chair, reading a plain piece of white paper that says nothing except two words:

_Too late._

She brushes her hand through her hair, catches Castle's eye. He stares back. She turns away, looks out the window.

She has to save her mother's killer.

X-X-X-X-X

"Wake up, asshole."

Bracken jerks awake and immediately regrets it. His head is throbbing. He flexes his arms, finds them bound—held to the arms of a chair by shackles. His feet, too. Nearby, someone chuckles.

"Wait for it."

Through the haze of fading unconsciousness, Bracken surveys his body: sitting in a chair, manacled to its arms and legs. Two thick bands around his chest. A blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. Sensors attached to wires on his fingers.

"The fuck…?" he mutters.

"And there it is," the voice says, followed by a burst of unearthly laughter.

It finally registers that someone else is in the room. Bracken whips his head around, searching, ignoring the pulsing stabs of pain at his temples. He's in a dark place, lit only by two dim and grimy lights. It's cold. _Freezing_. He shivers.

"Want me to turn up the heat?" the voice taunts. And then its owner steps into the light.

Bracken stares. It's like seeing a ghost. Clark Keller looks _just_ like his father, albeit with longer hair and thicker muscles. Bracken saw his picture on the news earlier; hadn't been surprised that the Keller boys turned out just as weak as their father, lashing out in anger in ways that won't get them what they want.

"Do you know who I am?" Clark asks.

"Sure," Bracken says, straightening in his chair. "You're that asshole who's been on the news."

Clark grins. "That the only place you know me from, Senator?"

Bracken gets a good look at Clark Keller for the first time, and something inside of him sinks. Clark looks unhinged. Feral. Hard to talk his way out of this one, and who knows how long it'll take the damn cops to do their job. He has to tread lightly.

"It's okay," Clark growls, bending to within an inch of Bracken's face. "You can say it. I look like my daddy."

Bracken says nothing. Clark grins.

"Want to know why you're here? You probably already know, don't you?"

"I tried to help your father, Clark."

Wrong thing to say. Bracken can tell the second it's out of his mouth because Clark's eyes flash, his whole body tensing in rage.

"What did you say?" he says carefully.

"I said I tried to help your father."

For a moment, Bracken swears that Clark is going to hit him. But it never happens. Instead, the son of his former best friend straightens, folds his arms over his chest, and chuckles.

"I figured we would have to teach you how to play this game right."

"What game?"

Clark puts his hand out, makes a _come here_ motion. After a moment or two, another young man appears. The resemblance to Travis Keller is less profound, but still there.

"Tommy?" Bracken asks.

Tommy says nothing. Bracken sees an opportunity and takes it.

"Tommy, hey. You don't have to do this. Just because your brother said—"

"Oh, give it a rest," Clark interrupts. "This isn't _Law and Order_."

Tommy disappears back into the darkness, and Bracken looks at Clark. Clark is holding a long metal rod in his hand. He holds it up and smiles. "Do you know what a picana is, Senator?"

Bracken knows. But he doesn't answer.

"It's like a magic wand," Clark continues. "See these wires? They run back over there, to a car battery. My father's car. In case you hadn't put two and two together, it's nothing but pure electricity running from there, to here."

As he says the last word, he touches the tip of the wand to Bracken's chest. A shock drills through Bracken's body, making his muscles seize and his mouth fall open in a wordless scream. The edges of his vision go white. Nothing exists except the pain, and then it stops.

Bracken struggles for breath, his head hanging. When he looks up, Clark is smiling. He starts talking again, explaining as if nothing just happened.

"And this dial, this one right here, that's what turns the voltage up. See, I want high voltage but a low current. That means we get to talk longer."

He lowers the rod again. Bracken jumps, cringes, and Clark roars with laughter. He pulls the rod away.

"The electric chair kills with 2450 volts," he murmurs thoughtfully, studying the picana. "Mine doesn't go as high as Old Sparky, of course. You know why?"

He leans down, one of his hands resting on each of the chair's arms. "Because I don't want you dead." He grins, showing of a row of gleaming white teeth. "Not yet, anyway."

He straightens. "I can't kill you because you're about to confess all your sins, Senator. I'm even going to let you confess them to a detective, so that it's legal and everything."

The smirk that curves over Clark's lips tells Bracken that he knows exactly how insane he sounds. He just doesn't care.

"Won't bringing the police here kind of defeat the plan?" Bracken asks. His voice is a rasp. He still hasn't recovered from the shock.

"Nah. Just one cop. Pretty one, too."

It clicks suddenly who they're talking about. He remembers seeing her face on the news during the report about the serial killer terrorizing Manhattan.

They're going to bring Beckett here.

Do they _know_?

His heart starts to pound. How could they know? Is she behind this? Did she arrange this just to make sure he knew that she was telling the truth—that he has no idea what she's capable of?

He takes a deep breath, gets control of himself. Of course they don't know. This has nothing to do with Beckett. It's just a coincidence. He's still got the upper hand. He can use Beckett. He can fix this. He's smarter than them.

"Who says she'll even believe you?" Bracken asks. "She'll think that I'm telling you what you want to hear so that I don't get hurt. And that's exactly what she'll tell the world when we make it out of here."

Clark swings the rod back and forth, shaking his head. "No, no, Senator. You're mistaken. The world is coming _here_. We're live and on air as soon as she gets here." He gestures over his shoulder, and another light flickers on. Bracken looks over, sees the video camera set up a few feet away from the car, pointed straight at him.

"And I won't be hurting _you_. I'll be hurting _her_."

Bracken looks back at Clark, notices for the first time that there's a second chair, shackles and all, sitting directly across from him.

"That's why you're hooked up to a polygraph," Clark whispers, bending down toward Bracken's ear. "And that's why the world is watching. Every time you lie, we'll know. Everyone will know. Especially her."

X-X-X-X-X

With the abduction of the Senator, every news outlet in the nation has picked up the Nemesis story. In other words, all of America is waiting for Kate to solve this case.

All of America is waiting for her to rescue the man who took her mother, her Captain, and her heartbeat.

Her task force has tripled in size. The FBI is involved. The police commissioner threw his weight around, and Gates happens to have a very high ranking FBI connection, so Kate gets to stay in charge of the case. Suddenly there are dozens of agents and detectives looking at her expectantly, waiting for orders.

So she gives them.

Every inch of what needs to be covered is covered, and then some. The FBI team leader tells her he'll take the night shift command post so she can go home to sleep. She wants to tell him no, but Gates is glaring at her and Castle is staring at her and she can't believe that she's trying to save the only man she has ever wanted to murder.

So she goes home.

She's exhausted, so she lets Castle drive. She assumes they're headed for his loft, but he pulls up to her apartment instead. Once she unlocks the door, she goes straight for a bottle of wine. Castle disappears into her bathroom. When he reappears, he heads straight for her and leads her into the bathroom, his fingers tangled with hers. He's got a bath running. He slowly undresses her, then holds her wine glass as he helps her into the tub. A few minutes later, she hears him ordering dinner from her favorite Chinese restaurant.

She closes her eyes. The water is warm, but her muscles won't relax. She doesn't know how long she stays in the bathtub. Long enough that the water starts to get cold. She's tired. She's so tired.

She gets out of the tub, dries herself off. She slides into some yoga pants and an oversized shirt. She pulls her hair back as she pads into the kitchen. Castle is staring down into a glass of wine. He looks up when he hears her. She moves around the island toward him. He opens his arms and she melts into him, her face in his neck and her arms holding on tight.

She swallows. So many words she could say and none of them would be enough. She can't explain what this case is doing to her anymore than she can explain what it means to have him there, drawing her baths and ordering her dinner and holding her.

"Love you," she breathes into his neck, because even if she can't explain it, there's always that.

A loud knock on the door stops his answer. "Food," he murmurs into her hair. "I'll get it."

She lets him go reluctantly. He runs his fingertips over her cheek as he pulls away, and she smiles at him, catches his hand and gives it a kiss. As he heads for the door, she turns to the counter to pour them both some more wine.

The door opens. Castle asks how much he owes. And then there's a shout.

Kate whirls around, sees Clark Keller barreling through her front door. Castle struggles to stop him, yells her name, and she bolts toward her office where she keeps her off-duty piece. Clark bellows something and another man appears in the doorway, starts for her. It must be Clark's brother, Tommy. She has her eyes set on her home office when she hears a sickening thud, looks over her shoulder in time to see Castle get pistol whipped. He falls to his knees. She hesitates.

She hesitates, and it does her in.

Clark lunges at her just as Tommy closes in. Arms wrap around her and she fights like hell, screams, manages to get a good kick in on one of them before she sees the needle.

And then Castle is up, bellowing the word _no_, slamming his hands down on Clark's shoulders and spinning him around.

Clark stabs the syringe into Castle's neck.

"_No_!" Kate screams, flailing in the arms of the other man.

Castle's eyes glaze over. Clark shoves him backward and Castle hits the floor hard, his head connecting with a painful crack. His eyes close instantly. Kate screams again. She brings the heel of her foot down hard on Tommy's toes. He howls in pain.

"Do it myself," Clark growls as he turns around.

Kate struggles but Tommy is too big; his grip on her is too tight. Clark covers her mouth with a rag. She shakes her head violently, but the rag stays. A horrific chemical smell fills her nose. The last thing she sees before she blacks out is Castle lying completely still on the floor.


	10. Shock

Javier Esposito is keeping watch.

The doctors told him that the dose of pancuronium was very low, and that the concussion was only mild. When Castle wakes up, he'll have a headache but he'll be able to move.

That's why Javi is keeping watch. Because he knows what Castle will do when he wakes up. It's the same thing Javier would do. He knows that Castle will try to bolt. He knows Castle will holler until he's hoarse about finding her. He knows Castle will probably say a lot of things, most of which he won't mean. He might even throw a punch when someone tries to stop him from leaving the hospital bed. Terror does that to you.

Javi keeps watch, lifts his eyes only to nod at Alexis or conference with Kevin.

And then Castle wakes up.

He shifts slightly, his eyebrows contracting. Javi waits. Castle shifts again and then moans, his eyelids fluttering. Alexis hovers over him, calling his name, and Javi waits. Finally Castle opens his eyes. He smiles at Alexis and she smiles back, but Javi doesn't relax. He waits.

And then Castle _really_ wakes up.

He sits bolt upright in his bed, nearly bowling Alexis over in the process. He whips his head around, his breathing suddenly rapid and shallow, her name falling from his lips on a strangled sob.

"Kate!"

Javi steps forward. "We'll find her."

Castle looks at him, eyes wild. His stare is blank at first, confused. And then his eyes harden. "Now," he spits as he climbs out of bed. He reaches for his IV, ready to yank it out. Alexis looks on in horror. Javi puts his hand out, stops Castle from pulling out the IV. He's scaring his daughter.

"Wait, bro."

"We're wasting time—"

"We'll find her—"

"We need search parties—"

"Castle, take it easy—"

"_Don't_," the writer growls. He looks Javi dead in the eye, jaw clenched, and for a moment the detective swears he's about to be punched in the face by a novelist. "Don't tell me to take it easy," Castle snarls. "Do you know what they are? What they _do_? What they'll do if…Kate is…"

He stops. His voice breaks. Behind him, Alexis puts her hand over her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears. Castle takes a deep breath and then looks up, his eyes hardened again.

Javi's chest tightens. He knows. But they'll find her. They have to.

"You're supposed to rest," he says lamely.

Castle scoffs. He shrugs Esposito's hand off and rips out the IV. Immediately he winces, unprepared for the pain, but it doesn't stop him. "We're leaving. Now."

Javi nods, because really, this was never about stopping Castle. He knew Castle wouldn't stay in that hospital bed, and he doesn't want him to. They need him to find Kate.

They have to find Kate.

X-X-X-X-X

The bullpen is deathly quiet.

Castle steps off the elevator and feels the eyes of every person in the room on him. He moves mechanically toward the murder board, bypassing her desk on the way. His heart aches so terribly that it's difficult to breathe. His head is still throbbing.

Gates watches him from the doorway of her office. He turns, meets her eyes. She nods once, then disappears back into her office. Ryan rises from his desk, stops next to Esposito. Everyone is quiet.

"What've we got?" Castle asks.

Nobody questions his authority. "She's been gone for four hours," Lennox says. "Taken from the apartment at 7:13. We got them on camera, but we couldn't get a plate. Van didn't have any."

"She conscious when they hauled her out?" Castle asks next. He doesn't want to know, but he has to.

"No," Esposito answers quietly.

"What else?" Castle demands.

"We're trying to track where the video that was sent to the news came from," Ryan says. "Except everything is coded and firewalled. Tech guys are working on it, but it's really complicated. Turns out Tommy is some kind of a tech genius. He's in school for computer programming. Whatever he's doing, it's got the tech guys in knots."

Castle bites his tongue until he tastes blood. Knots aren't good enough. This is _Kate_.

"That it?"

"We've got guys on the ground searching," someone pipes up. Castle can't bring himself to look away from the murder board, away from the words that Kate's hand had written only a few hours ago. He has to think for a moment, and then the voice registers. Allen. "Her picture is everywhere, and with Bracken gone too, this is the number one story in the nation. We're going to find them, Castle."

"Her," Castle says. He finally turns around, looks straight at Allen. "We're going to find her. Bracken can find himself."

Esposito and Ryan stare at him. Castle knows that nobody knows, but he doesn't care. He won't pretend like their lives are worth the same. If he finds out that Bracken is alive and Kate—if she even has a hair out of place—he'll kill the Senator himself.

"There something I should know?" Gates voice cuts through the silence.

Castle turns, sees her standing outside of her office. He meets her eyes head on. He's not afraid that she'll kick him out of the precinct. She wouldn't dare. Not with Beckett gone. She'll have a riot on her hands, judging by the way Esposito and Ryan are looking at her, but even that doesn't matter. Castle won't leave. She'll have to physically remove him.

"I said, is there something I should know?" Gates repeats. She steps into the bullpen. "About Senator Bracken, it seems."

"No, sir," Esposito says, stepping in front of Castle. "He's just making a point. Beckett's one of our own."

Gates looks straight past him and meets Castle's eyes. Castle doesn't say a word. He knows Esposito is trying to help, but he refuses to pretend like Bracken isn't a monster. All he can think about is Kate. He doesn't have time to dance around Kate's secret when there's a chance that she's…

His throat tightens. He remembers everything that happened before he lost consciousness. Remembers Kate struggling in the massive arms of Tommy Keller. How small she looked but how fierce her eyes were, how determined she was to break free.

His memory is broken by the shrill beep of the cell phone in his pocket. But it isn't just his phone. It's Esposito's, and Ryan's, and even Gates is reaching for hers. Castle fumbles to punch in his code, sees a text message from an unknown number. The message is nothing but a website.

"What the hell," Esposito says irritably.

Castle freezes. "You said Tommy Keller is some type of tech genius?"

When he looks up, recognition is dawning over the face of every cop in the room. Castle sprints into the conference room. His hands shake as he types in the site address on the Smartboard. He hears everyone else pouring in after him, but he doesn't look. He's afraid of the apprehension he'll see in Ryan's eyes, and the stubborn strength he'll see in Esposito's.

The website takes only a second to load, but it's too long. Castle waits, his hands still shaking as they hover in front of the screen. He can't breathe.

And then it loads. Castle frowns. It appears to be a site for the re-election of Bracken. Bracken's face smiles down at him, the background a vivid image of the American flag.

"Is this a joke?" Ryan mutters. Everyone in the room starts murmuring.

A ripple passes down the screen, and a collective hush follows. Suddenly Bracken's face disappears, and is replaced by a black screen. The blackness quivers, and then abruptly changes to a shot of what seems to be a warehouse. Cement floors, old walls, no furniture. Clark Keller's face appears next.

"We up?" he says to the camera. A barely audible affirmation sounds, and then Clark looks straight into the camera. "Hello, America. We're coming to you live, from an undisclosed location." He smirks. "Undisclosed, obviously, because I just became a top priority to the NYPD."

"I want to know where he is," Gates hollers. Some of the detectives in the room scurry to comply. Castle clenches his jaw. He hates this bastard.

"I have a special, guest," Clark continues. "Ladies and gentleman, give a warm welcome to Senator William H. Bracken."

The camera swivels and suddenly Bracken is filling the screen. He has a deep bruise forming under his left eye, and his lip is swollen and bloody. He's sitting in a chair, each hand handcuffed to the arm of the chair. Two black bands are fastened around his chest, and a blood pressure cuff encircles one arm. Sensors on his fingers are attached to wires, and Castle follows the wires' length back to—

"That's a polygraph," Gates says, stepping up to stand next to Castle.

"Say hello, Senator," Clark sneers.

Bracken says nothing. Clark appears onscreen again.

"In case you hadn't noticed, America, the machine next to the good Senator is a polygraph. A lie detector. Senator Bracken has graciously offered to conduct an interview." Clark looks over his shoulder at Bracken. "We all know, of course, that politicians have a way of _manipulating_ the truth. That's why Senator Bracken is hooked up to a polygraph. Because America deserves the whole truth, and nothing but."

Clark turns back to the screen. "Lucky for Senator Bracken, he's going to have some company. Some very lovely company, if I do say so myself."

Waves of nausea makes Castle's stomach turn. He wants to look away, but he can't.

"Now, I have to tell you a secret," Clark stage-whispers, moving even closer to the screen. "Senator Bracken knows that our interview is being watched all around the world, but our next guest doesn't. And she won't. We need her to be herself."

"No," Ryan murmurs from behind Castle.

Clark smiles. "She's not quite awake yet, but we'll go ahead and let you meet her before we set the Senator up with his polygraph. She's one of New York's finest, in every sense of the word. Detective Kate Beckett."

The camera swivels again, and Kate fills the screen. Castle forgets how to breathe.

X-X-X-X-X

When Kate wakes, her head is pounding. Her nostrils still burn with the aftereffects of whatever chemical Clark Keller shoved against her nose. Probably chloroform. She doesn't open her eyes right away. She needs a minute to get her bearings before the Kellers know she's awake.

She breathes in deep. Frigid air slices into her lungs just as she registers that wherever she is, it is very, very cold. She listens. No ambient city noise. No voices. Maybe she's in a basement? A storage locker?

She moves her right hand slightly, feels the cold press of something against her wrist. Handcuffs, but thicker. Like…shackles? Where the hell is she?

She listens one more time for noise, voices, anything. Nothing. She's going to have to open her eyes. It hits her, suddenly, that she's moving. Her hand is moving, and when she tries—yes, she can move her toes inside her socks. No pancuronium. Yet.

Time to open her eyes.

"And, there she is," a voice booms through the room. "Sleeping Beauty has risen again."

Kate looks around. She's in an open warehouse, what looks like it used to be a loading dock judging by the closed garage doors on the far right side. Only a few lights are on, casting an eerily dim glow over an old car in the corner. She swivels, looking for Clark Keller, but stops short when she sees who is sitting across from her.

Bracken.

Their eyes lock. Kate feels her heart speed up. Hatred leaks into her blood from the lockbox she keeps it hidden away in, somewhere in the center of her chest, against her heart. Bracken licks his lips, looks like he wants to say something. He doesn't. He's bound to a chair the same way she is, but he has sensors attached to his fingers that lead back to a polygraph. She isn't attached to one.

"Feeling okay, Detective Beckett?"

Kate looks up, sees Clark Keller towering over her. She doesn't answer. She looks back at Bracken, finds him staring at her. She should be worried about what Keller is going to do to her. She should be thinking of a plan to escape. Instead, all she can think about is Bracken, and what he's done, and how she hopes the polygraph is rigged to zap him every time he lies.

"I'm sure you recognize our friend, here."

Kate doesn't break eye contact. "Senator William Bracken," she says, enunciating every syllable.

Clark laughs. "He's here to make a confession, Detective."

Kate's heart stills. Do they _know_? This whole time, building up to Bracken—do they know what he did to her mother?

Keller is staring at her, apparently waiting for her to speak. She licks her lips, feels them starting to dry out. It's so _cold_. "A confession about what?" she asks.

"He's responsible for my father's death."

Kate stares at Bracken, her mouth open. Bracken meets her gaze impassively. She wants to shout at him, wants to demand how many other children he's left without parents. She remembers the Keller file saying that Travis Keller had committed suicide, but that doesn't matter. Her mother's file says she was killed in a random act of violence and there was nothing random about it. How does she know Travis Keller's death wasn't the same?

And then it hits her. She looks up at Clark, who is watching Bracken with a cruel smirk, and realizes that they're the same. That instant when their worlds came crashing down, that invasion of white-hot pain that steals the breath right out of your lungs—she and Clark are the same. Maybe they chose different paths, maybe she's on one side of the law and he's on the other, but how could she look at him and not see what she could have been?

What she _is_.

Wasn't she just looking at Bracken a moment ago, wishing he would suffer? Castle called it part of being human but that doesn't feel right. She doesn't feel right. Maybe Clark's idea of revenge involves innocent people along the way, but the bottom line is the same for both of them—Bracken dies.

Clark looks down at her. "I'm afraid this interrogation will be a little different than the ones you're used to, but I've got a feeling it'll be even more effective. Maybe the NYPD will have to look into it."

Kate swallows. "Different how?"

"Why don't you ask the Senator?"

Kate looks at Bracken pointedly. He drops his gaze, stares at the floor while he swallows thickly. If Kate didn't know any better, she'd say he looked scared. Clark clicks his tongue. Kate hears him moving, but she doesn't look. She's staring at Bracken, wondering why he looks so goddamned concerned.

"Well, since the cat's got your tongue," Clark says, stopping next to Kate. She looks up at him and sees a metal rod in his hand. Her blood runs cold. She knows what it is, and she knows what it does.

"It's very simple," Clark says, looking down at her. "I'm going to ask him a series of questions. Those wires are hooked up to that polygraph machine over there that Tommy is manning."

Kate looks over, and sure enough, Tommy Keller has appeared behind the polygraph.

"And I, of course, have my handy dandy picana. See where I'm headed, Detective?"

"When he lies, he gets zapped," Kate says.

"No," Clark says.

Kate looks up at him. She can't stop a shiver from drilling down her spine.

"When Bracken lies, my brother nods," Clark explains very carefully, as though he's talking to a small child. "And when he nods, you scream."

The end of the picana dips toward her, finds a spot just beneath her collarbone.

She screams.


	11. Set You Free

She starts with a series of simple commands.

_Breathe, Kate. _

It's hard. Her body remembers the jolt of electricity, perhaps because it lasted for an eternity and only ended a few seconds ago. Her muscles are still tense, frozen in pain. Her lungs are frozen too, but she coaxes them to life. _Come on. Breathe. Breathe, Beckett._

The first breath burns the whole way down. She finds herself shuddering as she releases it, shivering from the air that is so much colder now. Sweat pinpricks her forehead.

_Relax, Kate. _

Slowly, one limb at a time, she wills her muscles to relax. Legs. Arms. Torso.

_Hold your head up, Kate. _

She lifts her head. Bracken is watching her. She blinks once, slowly. She looks up at Clark, who is watching her carefully. "That the best you can do?" she rasps.

He roars with laughter. It echoes through the room, bouncing off the cement floor and coming back distorted. Terrifying. "Picked a good one, Tommy," Clark says. He points the picana at Bracken. "You lie too much tonight, I'd be afraid to meet her in a dark alley," he says.

Kate looks at Bracken. "He should be afraid to do that anyway."

"Ooh," Clark coos. "You're a Democrat, aren't you, Beckett?"

Kate says nothing. Bracken is glaring at her now, and she's glad. It's better than the fake concern she saw a few minutes ago, concern that he's faking and she can't figure out why.

"Wait a minute," Clark murmurs, leaning down so he's eye level with Kate. She glances over at him, sees him looking between her and Bracken. "Do you two know each other?"

Neither Kate nor Bracken says anything.

"Tommy," Clark calls. Tommy nods. "Senator," Clark says. "Do you know Detective Beckett?"

"She's sitting in front of me."

Clark has the picana up in a flash, has it resting just above Kate's thigh. She freezes. The breath holds in her lungs, quivering, waiting to come out on a scream.

"Yes or no," Clark says. His face is inches from Kate's, but he's looking at Bracken.

The senator shakes his head. "No."

The pain is unbearable. She slams her eyes shut and gives up trying to stop the scream a split second after the shock starts. It's over much sooner than her first experience, but it still lasts too long. Her throat aches. She pants to catch her breath, opens her eyes to glare at Bracken. Her muscles ache horribly, sweat pours off her temples. Her body is convulsing, shivering from the cold and the pain.

"Let's try it again," Clark growls. "Do you know Detective Beckett?"

Bracken hesitates. Clark lowers the picana, Kate tenses, and Bracken shouts. "Wait!"

The edge of the picana stops a centimeter from her thigh.

"Yes, okay?" Bracken says. "Yes."

Clark hums his approval, but he doesn't move the picana. "Do you know her personally? Were you two…lovers?"

Kate chokes on her disgust. Bracken narrows his eyes at her. "No," he spits.

"Old friends from school?"

"No."

Kate glances down, sees the picana is still dangerously close. She tries to calm her breathing, swallowing around the scratchiness of her throat.

Clark squints at Bracken. "You're right, that couldn't be it. You're much older than her. You got an older brother or sister, Detective?"

"No."

"Hm. Her parents, then."

The silence echoes through the room. Kate stares at Bracken, willing him to tell the damn truth for once in his life. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, the picana touches Kate's leg and she's gone, lost in another black hole of can't-breathe-can't-think pain. When it ends, she can't move. Her head is hanging, her chin brushing her chest as she struggles to breathe. She can feel her skin slicked with sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead.

"Too late," Clark chuckles.

Hatred surges through Kate. She lifts her head and glares at Bracken. "Tell. The. Truth," she snarls at him. On the last word she yanks against the shackles holding her to the chair, the clang of metal echoing through the warehouse.

Bracken jumps. He glances off to his right, in the direction of the car. "Yes," he says. "I knew her parents."

"My mother," Kate clarifies. She rolls her shoulders, wincing at the tense ache. "You knew my mother."

"Senator?"

"Her mother. Yes. Please don't hurt her, she didn't do anything—"

"Don't hurt me?" Kate interrupts. Bracken falls silent. She can feel Clark's eyes on her but she doesn't care. She has never hated anyone more than she hates Bracken in this very moment. "Since when are you concerned about hurting me? You had my mother _murdered_, my Captain _murdered_."

She reaches up, yanks the collar of her shirt down to reveal the circular scar in the center of her chest. She points at it. "You did that. You hired Maddox to put a bullet straight through my heart."

Bracken shakes his head. "Detective Beckett—"

"No, fuck you!" Kate cuts him off. She pulls on her shackles again, strangely satisfied by the horrific clanging. "You hear me? Fuck you, Bracken. You're the one who should be on the end of this stick!"

Her words hang in the air for a long moment. Finally, Clark straightens. "What do you say, Senator? Is the detective telling the truth?"

Bracken shakes his head. "It's more complicated than that."

"How?" Kate demands. "How is it complicated? You did it all. If you're man enough to do it, be man enough to own it!"

Clark tips the picana toward Kate's chest. She flinches automatically, but she doesn't take her eyes off Bracken.

"Go ahead," she spits at him. "Lie again and watch me scream."

Bracken flicks his eyes over toward the car again. Kate looks too, confused, but sees nothing. When she looks back at the senator, he's shaking his head. "Don't, Keller. Don't touch her."

"The senator has a soul," Clark sneers. "Or does he? I wonder what his motivation is, hm?"

Clark isn't making any sense, but Kate doesn't care. "Ask him," she orders. Clark looks at her, surprised, but she doesn't back down. "_Ask_ him."

Clark gestures grandly at Bracken. "Please, Detective. You're the professional here. You ask him. Tread lightly, though. You're still the one on the end of the stick. "

Kate turns her eyes back to Bracken. "Did you hire a contract killer to murder my mother?"

"Yes."

"Did you blackmail and then murder Captain Roy Montgomery?"

"Yes."

"Did you hire a sniper to kill me at Captain Montgomery's funeral?"

Bracken sighs. "Yes."

Kate lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Clark, for once, is momentarily speechless, and she's glad. She deserves this moment. Bracken isn't in jail, he isn't dead, he hasn't paid for any of the damage he's caused—but he's admitted it. At least she has that, even if his confession was only to her and a pair of deranged serial killers.

"I gotta tell you," Clark says, finally finding his voice, "this is _so_ much better than what I had planned."

He moves the picana away from her chest, and she lets out another long-held breath. Her muscles ache, but at least she can breathe.

"Tommy. Bring me the key."

Tommy brings a key to his brother. Clark crouches in front of Kate and begins to unlock her leg shackles. "Gun on her, Tommy. Come on, now. She's a cop."

Tommy lifts a Glock, points it straight at Kate's head. She doesn't move. When Clark is finished with her leg shackles, he moves to her wrists. "Do you like to read, Detective Beckett?"

Kate's left hand is free. She flexes it, trying to bring some blood flow back to her cold fingers. "Yes," she says.

"Ever read any Hemingway?"

"Yeah. _Farewell to Arms_."

Her right hand is free. She rubs her wrists, which are sore from how hard she yanked the metal against them a few minutes ago. She looks up at Tommy, sees him watching her. The gun is still trained on her head. Clark is talking to her.

"He was a fatalist, but he was smart. Great storyteller. You know what he said? He said all stories end in death, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar."

Kate holds his gaze. "You going to kill me now, Clark?"

"No. And I'm not going to kill Bracken, either. Stand up."

She obeys. She doesn't have much of a choice.

"Hold out your hand."

Again, she obeys. Clark places a Glock into her hand. She looks up at him, stunned.

"That's the man who killed your mother, Detective. Kill him."

X-X-X-X-X

Castle has watched every chilling second.

He watched as the camera moved from an unconscious Kate to Bracken. Watched as Clark showed the senator that he was being broadcast live on an internet site that every news outlet in the nation had picked up. Watched as Bracken listened to Keller's careful explanation that he could lie if he wanted to, but every lie was going to turn the American people against him more than the truth ever could.

He watched as Kate was tortured. Watched her body convulse and shiver, listened to her scream, and not once did he look away from the screen. She couldn't look away. She couldn't walk away. Neither would he.

He watched as Bracken confessed. He knew, somewhere in his writer's brain that never really shut off, that Bracken was making a smart play. He was pretending he didn't want Beckett hurt, and in doing so, he was saving face. He came off as compassionate, and if he made it out of this alive, it wouldn't be impossible to spin. Difficult, yes, but not impossible. Castle could see it now: _Senator Confesses To Phony Crimes To Save Kidnapped Detective. Polygraph Rigged. Details on page 2._

He watched as Keller quoted Hemingway. Watched as Kate was freed from her shackles and stood, graceful even in the midst of horror. He watched as a Glock was set in her hand.

And now he watches as Clark Keller whispers in Kate Beckett's ear all the reasons why she should kill Senator William Bracken.

"Tell me you've never thought about it," Clark murmurs.

Kate doesn't answer, but her face says it all.

"It's okay, Detective. I understand. You're only human."

Castle feels the stab of the words. He can tell Kate does too, can see her eyes flicker closed, undoubtedly remembering his words from earlier in her Crown Vic. _Part of you is human._

"Don't," Castle murmurs to the screen.

"She won't," Ryan declares softly from somewhere behind him.

"She doesn't know she's on camera," Lennox points out.

"She's a good cop," Esposito growls. "Even when no one is watching."

"She's human," someone else counters. "And she's been through hell."

Kate stares down at the gun in her hand. Her body is unbelievably still, statue-like, and Castle knows. He knows what she's thinking. When she goes still that way it's when she's questioning, searching, weighing her options with a calculated ease that she's so damn good at. But this isn't deciding how to storm a suspect's home, or what interrogation method to use.

"Come on, Kate," Castle pleads. "Come on."

"Its justice," Clark murmurs in her ear. "He deserves to die, and you know it. All those people he took from you. He even tried to kill you. But you're a fighter, aren't you? You're still here. You get to have the last word."

She shakes her head slightly. "This isn't justice."

"Yes, it is."

"Revenge," she starts, but doesn't finish. She looks up at Bracken.

Clark watches her. "Sometimes they're the same thing, Beckett. How many more people will die? How many more lives will he ruin if you don't end this right here, right now? Protecting people is your job, Detective."

Kate moves her other hand up toward the gun slowly. Clark and Tommy tense. She flicks a release, sends the cartridge of the gun sliding out, and examines the bullets.

Clark smiles. "It's full. Take as many as you need."

She shoves the cartridge back up into the gun with a snap. She looks up at Clark.

"Justice," he whispers to her.

She looks back to Bracken.

"Kate," Castle breathes. He rests his fingertips against the Smartboard. The screen is cold and unforgiving, so different than her skin. "Come on, Kate. Please."

Kate takes a deep, shuddering breath. And then she lifts the gun and takes aim at the senator.


	12. Verdict

_After this comes the epilogue. Thanks for coming along for the ride :) _

* * *

Time slows to a standstill.

_Part of you is human._

Kate is hyper aware of everything. The gun pointed at her head. The frigid air that turns her breath into white puffs as it passes her lips.

_Sometimes they're the same thing. _

The weight of the Glock in her hand. The snick of the cartridge as she slid it back into place. The soft whoosh of air as she raised her arm.

_How many more people will die?_

The whites of Bracken's eyes as he watches her, waiting. The Keller boys, waiting. They're waiting for her to decide, but what they don't realize is that she's waiting, too.

She could kill him and no one would ever know. No one except the Keller boys, who are insane and so it wouldn't matter. This could all be over. Checking over her shoulder. Being afraid to truly sink into Castle and their life because she's always waiting for the other shoe to drop. The hollow feeling of failure every time she visits her mom's grave on the anniversary of the day that irrevocably changed her.

She's dreamed of this. Of having the Dragon on his knees before her, at her mercy the way her mother was at his. It doesn't matter that he didn't pull the trigger himself. It doesn't matter that she's about to. Responsibility is determined by the havoc that you wreak, and no one has wreaked more havoc than this twisted man in front of her. She won't wreak havoc killing him—she'll prevent it. This is a pre-emptive strike. This is justice. This is why she lies awake at night, because she's been searching for closure for years, running through an endless maze like some hapless lab rat, but now she's here. She is _here_, with a gun in her hand, and she can do this. She has to do this.

_You're the only one who doubts you, Kate. _

It hurts to breathe. It hurts because she knows she won't be able to keep this from him. Even if the world never finds out who killed Senator Bracken, she will know, and so Castle will know. That's always how it's worked. Whatever they're made of, it's the same. He balances her and complements her and is her opposite in every way but they are the same and he will _know_.

Will he love her, still? Even after this?

_I never questioned your integrity. Not once._

She closes her eyes.

_Even now, Castle?_

X-X-X-X-X

The bullpen is silent. Castle is inches from the screen, his nose nearly touching Kate's digitized body. He chants her name over and over again under his breath, praying to every deity he knows but most of all to her, to everything she is, because he will love her even if she pulls the trigger, but she will never, _never_ forgive herself if she does. She'll never be the same.

She moves so quickly that he squints, thinks he's seeing things. When the gun goes off, he jumps back as though the screen has caught fire.

Tommy Keller doubles over and falls backward, clutching his middle. Kate swings her arm, cracks the butt of the Glock across Clark's jaw. Tommy lifts his gun to aim at her. Castle shouts. Kate has already shifted her aim. She fires two shots into Tommy's chest. Clark lunges toward her. She swings her arm back around, squeezes three rounds into him before he reaches her. He falls to his knees. Their eyes meet. She stares at him with a blank look, the gun now leveled at his forehead. He falls forward, dead at her feet.

And just like that, it's over. She lowers her arm, the gun brushing her thigh.

"Holy shit," someone in the conference room breathes.

The echo of the shots still rings in Castle's ears. He blinks hard to make sure it wasn't his imagination. He stares at Kate, who is staring down at Clark Keller.

"That's my girl," he whispers.

And then, slowly, she turns her head to look at Bracken.

It isn't over.

Castle's heart stops beating. It's the way she's moving. The deliberateness of it. He's seen it before, in moments when she's trying to control herself. Coldness is etched into every line of her face. Even through a camera lens, even in the dimness of a poorly lit warehouse, he can see the hatred in her eyes.

"No," he breathes.

She walks toward the senator with a calculated slowness, the lines of her body moving fluidly like a predator.

"Detective?" Bracken says when she stops in front of him.

"Senator," she answers.

And then she lifts the gun. She presses the muzzle to his temple. Nothing shows on her face. No indecision, no questions. Just a cold mask of hatred. Castle won't give in to the fear. He won't doubt her. Not now. She has a way of sensing that sort of thing, of reading his mind, and if he gives up on her she'll do it, she'll put that trigger in front of the entire nation.

"I hate you," she snarls at Bracken.

Bracken swallows. "You don't want to do this."

She grits her teeth, presses the muzzle harder into his temple so that the skin dips beneath the pressure. "You're wrong," she murmurs. "I really, _really_ do."

"There's cameras here," he says, the quiver in his voice belying how hard he's trying to keep a straight face. "He was taping the whole thing, broadcasting it live."

"Really, that's what you're going with? Cameras?"

"Why would I lie?"

Kate cocks an eyebrow at him. Bracken purses his lips, annoyed at her implication. Kate shakes her head, smirks. "Even if you are telling the truth, even if I let you walk out of here, it doesn't change anything. It's always going to end this way. One of us has to die. Why should I prolong the inevitable?"

She moves the gun, slides it down beneath Bracken's chin and lifts his face with it. She bends toward him. Stops inches from his lips. "You made a choice once. A choice that wasn't about anybody but yourself. I'm about to make the same choice, and I want you to understand that. I want you to understand that what I'm about to do isn't about you. It's about me."

Bracken swallows, and it moves the gun slightly. She stands. Moves the gun back up to his temple. "Say you understand," she demands.

"I understand."

Bracken closes his eyes. Castle holds his breath. The seconds tick on. He waits. She won't do this. She won't murder a man in cold blood.

Right?

Kate lowers the gun.

Without the pressure of the gun to his temple, Bracken snaps his eyes back open. He stares at her. She holds his stare for a fraction of an instant, and then walks back toward Clark Keller's body.

"Hey," Bracken calls.

Kate ignores him, keeps walking.

"Hey!" Bracken shouts. "What the hell are you doing?"

Kate bends over Clark's body, searches his pockets, and comes up with a cell phone. She punches in a number. Bracken continues to shout. Castle watches, spellbound. As she lifts the phone to her ear, he notices that her hands are shaking. He's shaking too, vibrating from the relief.

No, he's _actually_ vibrating.

His phone. It's vibrating in his pocket.

_Kate_.

He fumbles to answer it, nearly drops it in the process, finally gets it to his ear. "Kate," he nearly shouts. "Kate. God, Kate."

On the screen, he sees her wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She's still holding on tightly to the gun. "Castle," she says in his ear. It echoes through the room a second later from the screen. "I need you to come get me."

X-X-X-X-X

She hears the sirens.

Bracken watches her, a mixture of hatred and confusion, as she stands. She's made no move to unlock him from his shackles. Someone else can do that. She has somewhere to be. Castle is coming for her.

She heads toward one of the garage doors, manages to yank it up. When she steps outside, it's into a flood of light. There's a spotlight from a hovering helicopter, which sends her hair flying in all directions. Blues and reds flash and clash with dozens of shouting voices. She lifts her hand, gun still clasped tightly, to shield her eyes. She listens.

"Kate!"

She sees him at the same time she hears him. She drops the gun. She's dazed, numb, but her body moves of its own volition. Her legs carry her toward him. Her muscles scream in protest but she doesn't care. She can't bear the look on his face, alternately lit by blue and red. He's running too, shoving an officer out of the way, and then she's in his arms.

When their bodies connect, warm and familiar, she registers how cold she is. How much she hurts. She shivers hard, her knees buckling. He catches her, holds her steady with one arm around her waist as he shrugs out of his jacket and then immediately wraps it around her. She doesn't open her eyes, trusting him to slide her arms into the proper places and then pull her back into his chest. She buries her nose in his neck, still shivering and barely standing.

She feels the confession welling up inside of her. Now isn't the time, not when she's surrounded by colleagues. The media will be here the second they find out. She shouldn't.

"Castle," she says anyway, her lips moving over his skin.

He dips his ear down toward her mouth so he can hear.

"I almost killed him," she says. "Bracken. He's here. I could've…I almost…I wanted to kill him, Rick."

He holds her tighter. "I know."

She relaxes, relieved that he—

"What?" she says, pulling back to look at him. "What do you mean you _know_?"

He shakes his head, looks equal parts terrified and apologetic. "They were taping you, Kate. Everything they did, everything you did—they were broadcasting it live on the internet."

The air rushes straight out of her lungs and into the cold air, sending a thick puff of white floating past her eyes. "Bracken was telling the truth?" she demands.

Castle nods. "For once, yeah."

"Beckett!" she hears. She turns, sees Esposito and Ryan running toward her. Esposito puts a hand on her shoulder the second he's close enough, looks her up and down. Ryan does the same from her other side. She holds Castle's eyes, too stunned to tease the boys.

"You okay?" Esposito asks.

She finally looks at him. "Is it true? You saw the whole thing?"

He blanches, shares a look with Ryan. It's the only answer she needs. She turns away from all three of them, feeling nauseous. _Everything_? The torture, her internal tug of war, the Kellers dead at her feet. The Glock muzzle pressed to Bracken's temple. The whole country saw every second of what she just went through.

Bracken suddenly appears in the garage door she opened only a few minutes ago. He's flanked by three uniformed officers. She watches him walk toward her. When he's a few yards away their eyes meet, and she feels her stomach roll. She's going to throw up. Seeing him, knowing what she almost did and how many people saw it—she's going to be sick.

"Arrest him."

It's Gates's voice. Kate turns, stunned. Sure enough, Gates is standing next to Esposito. Bracken's strut falters. The uniformed officers around him look at each other stupidly.

"Don't you know how to follow orders?" Gates snaps. "Arrest Senator Bracken. _Now_."

One of the uniforms, the youngest of the three, jumps to attention and pulls Bracken's hands behind his back. The snick of his handcuffs slices through the night.

"For what?" Bracken asks coolly. "A coerced confession given under extreme duress? _Before_ your detective held a gun to my head? Won't stand in court."

"Maybe not," Gates returns. "But it was enough for a warrant that we're already executing. Maybe we don't find evidence for Detective Beckett, but we've already found some pretty interesting things. Enough to ruin your career. What was left of it after tonight, anyway."

Bracken's arrogance fades. Gates smiles, a wicked and victorious thing that takes Kate's breath away. The captain turns to look at her.

"The truth doesn't always set you free, Detective," she says. She looks back at Bracken. "Sometimes it locks you up."


	13. Epilogue

_I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and that is the beginning of everything._

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

* * *

At 3:16 in the morning, Kate gets out of bed.

Castle is asleep. Her toes curl against the chilly air. The floor is cold underneath her feet, but not nearly as cold as that warehouse.

She shivers.

She creeps into the closet, pulls on one of Castle's hooded sweatshirts. When she passes the bed again, her chest tightens. What if the night had ended differently? What if he'd had to crawl into that bed alone?

It's awful to think about. Her evening was a nightmare, but she can't stop thinking about the terror on his face when the Kellers burst into her apartment, or the way he held her outside the warehouse in the frigid air, like he would never let her go. Is her trauma any worse than his? Watching helplessly as the person you love goes through hell and back, stands on the brink of something terrible? He watched every second of it. He watched her kill two men, and nearly murder another in cold blood.

An insistent throb pounds between her eyes. Migraine. She pads into the kitchen, busies herself with making some coffee. She doesn't make decaf because she doesn't need to worry about falling asleep. She won't. As it brews, she puts her hands on the counter and leans forward, stretching the muscles in her back. She's sore. Castle wouldn't let her come home until she got a full work up at the hospital. The doctors ordered rest and Gates ordered paid leave, and now she has to spend the next two weeks at home, bored and trying to outrun nightmares.

The coffee finishes with a sputter. She pours it with unsteady hands, and then breathes in the steam as she makes her way to the window. She remembers, suddenly, the last time she stood in front of this window in the middle of the night. A suspect in custody that she knew in her gut wasn't their guy. Unable to sleep because she was waiting for their next victim. She shifts her gaze, looks at her reflection instead of out the window. She looks haggard. She closes her eyes, remembers the image of a half-eaten face.

She's haggard, perhaps, but it's more like eaten alive.

She hears the creak of the floorboards. Déjà vu sweeps over her. Castle found her that night, too. She waits, but he doesn't approach her. She wonders why, but realizes he's afraid to catch her off guard. She sets her mug down on the windowsill.

"It's okay," she murmurs. She looks at him over her shoulder. "I heard you."

His expression relaxes. He comes toward her. "You always hear me."

"That's because you walk like an elephant," she says, turning back to the window. She sees his affronted expression in the reflection of the window. "A ruggedly handsome elephant," she clarifies.

He looks mollified. He wraps his arms around her. She leans back against him. A few hours ago, she wasn't sure she'd ever get to do this again. She closes her eyes. She can still see her reflection on the inside of her eyelids. Haunted. Her fingers twitch, still filled with the steel of a Glock, the trigger ready beneath her finger.

"Nightmares?" he asks, his mouth by her ear.

She doesn't answer right away. How does she explain that anything her mind may have dreamt while she slept isn't half as bad as the phantom Glock in her hand and the knowledge that for a moment, she'd planned to pull the trigger?

She exhales a shaky breath and opens her eyes. He's watching her in the reflection of the window. She looks away, gazes down into the street at the snow.

"I wanted to kill him."

He buries his face in her neck. "I know."

"So many times, Castle. So many times I've imagined what it would be like to watch the life drain out of his eyes. I felt like I deserved to be the one draining it. And then there I was, and he was there, and it didn't matter that a sociopath put the gun in my hand, it didn't matter what my job was. We were alone. I could have easily made it look like one of the Kellers did it."

Castle has gone still behind her, but she can't bring herself to stop. She looks in the reflection of her own eyes instead of his while she finishes her thought.

"I could have killed him. And I wanted to."

Castle comes alive behind her, holds her tighter. "But you didn't."

"I don't know why."

"Well I do."

She finally turns in his arms. He looks down at her with a reverence that keeps her quiet. He brushes her hair out of her eyes.

"You're too good, Kate."

"I killed the Kellers."

"You did what you had to."

"I didn't have to put a gun to Bracken's head. I _wanted_ to, Castle. I wanted to so badly—"

He shakes his head and puts his hands on either side of her face, silences her with how intently he's staring at her. His thumbs trace over her cheeks. "Asking the questions isn't wrong. Can't you see that? We all ask ourselves questions. We all want things we shouldn't. It's our _choices_ that define us. Nothing else."

She closes her eyes. He rests his forehead against hers. She balls his t-shirt up in her fists and hangs on. He's right; she made her choice. And she doesn't regret it. Maybe in the morning. Maybe when the search of Bracken's property turns up nothing and there are still no leads and he walks away again, free. Maybe then.

But not tonight.

She strokes a hand through his hair, her forehead still pressed to his. "Did you think I would do it? When you watched?"

"No," he says immediately.

She swallows. "What if I had?"

He pulls away. Smiles. "What if it was me and not 3XK who killed Tessa and then nailed her to the ceiling?"

"You wouldn't. I never thought you—" she stops abruptly when she catches his meaning. "Touché," she murmurs. He watches her. She sighs, rubs her hands down his chest. "Okay."

"Okay?"

She bites her lip. "That Hemingway quote that Keller brought up. Do you know the rest of it?"

Castle shakes his head. She watches her hands, not wanting to see the look on his face.

"He says that if two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it."

He squeezes her hips, waits until she looks at him. "I never cared for Hemingway," he murmurs. "I prefer Fitzgerald."

She steps closer and wraps her arms around him, brings their chests flush against each other. "And what does Fitzgerald say?"

He brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. "He says that I love you. And that it's the beginning of everything."

"And the end?"

He shakes his head. "Love like that has no end, Kate."


End file.
